


The Road Ahead

by BreakfastTea



Series: Recovery [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-14 11:16:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreakfastTea/pseuds/BreakfastTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim's got a long road to recovery ahead of him, but he won't be going it alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is Jim's side of my story "Bedside Manners". You can probably read this without reading that although it might be a wee bit confusing without it.
> 
> The poem at the end of the chapter, my favourite of all time, is Ulysses by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. Aren't those words perfection?

Breathe.

 _BREATHE_!

He pulled in one great big wrenching breath.  He felt everything.  Body arching, joints popping, muscles shrieking, skin cold too cold shivering shiver shiver oh why so cold?

His senses were under assault.

Noise.  Voices, words, screeches, machines? A cacophony, exploding in his head.  The single breath filled him with chemical stenches, but he couldn’t see… couldn’t get out of the black… Things pressed against him, fires igniting every time, and so much noise! What was that? So loud, so _not silent_.  None of it made sense.

For a moment, on that single breath, he flew…

…and then he fell.  Away from the noise and the light and the pain… Down, down, deeper… black.

Nothing.

Gone.

.

..

….

Until, suddenly, he _felt_.

Tired.  Breathlessly, heavily exhausted.

…

He drifted on a black tide.  No sound, no light, nothing, just black and him… whatever that meant.  What did that mean? Time meant nothing.  Did it exist? If it did, it wasn’t in any kind of hurry.  Emptiness persisted, untroubled, unchanged.

And then…

…not noise or light but…

Ripple.  It was a ripple.  Warm like desert sun.  There and gone in a heartbeat.

Maybe it was a dream.  Or the fragment of one.

Black.  Blackest.  Wasn’t so peaceful now something had disturbed it.  Something from outside.  If the warmth was outside, that meant the black was inside… but inside what? Where was he?

He reached out. Or at least he thought he did.  He had no idea.  Nothing happened.

Slumping, he let the emptiness carry him for a while, his whole world an unchanged landscape.

And yet…

Noise.  Up and down sounds, high and low, close and distant, muffled and unclear…

In here?

Out there where the ripple came from?

Somewhere.  Wherever it was, it was a constant chattering stream washing over him.  Maybe it would make more sense if he could see…

But even if he had a body, and he wasn’t sure he did, he didn’t think he’d know what to do with it.  How did you make yourself see beyond the black?

His body announced its presence some unknowable time later in the worst possible way.  Agony encroached on what limited senses he possessed.  It started as an itch but quickly built into a growling storm, constantly rumbling and occasionally jolting across his body without warning.  He couldn’t escape it.  Ravenous pain consumed everything.

…Almost everything.  He was hot.  Too hot, as though he’d collapsed too close to a fire.  It made the existing pain worse.  His insides burned, sharp shards of whatever tore him up from the inside out slowly, so slowly, slicing their way through flesh and bone.  He was alone, wrapped in darkness and burning, burning, burning.

He wanted to scream.  Wanted to claw his way out of wherever he was.  Couldn’t.  The disconnect between his mind and his body didn’t stop him from feeling pain but it stopped everything else.  He couldn’t move or speak, and all the while pain bit into him, its sharp teeth clamping down, ripping away his flesh and spitting acid onto raw nerves. 

Until…

…until ice washed through him.

He would’ve wept if he could.

Numb.

Numb and trapped in the black.

Maybe that was for the best.

Maybe…

…Black.

He startled back to awareness when he felt it again.  A ripple.  The ripple.  Desert warmth washed over him.  Could it feel him too? What would he even feel like? Pitch blackness, probably.  Still… the ripple came from _outside_. Did it know he was down here?

It withdrew.

No! No, no, no.  No, he didn’t want to be alone down here.

The ripple returned, and not just one. Two.  Two! Desert warmth and… summer storms.  They were gone in an instant, but his dark little world felt different… maybe it felt connected to something else, even if he was alone.

He needed to get back to whatever waited beyond the black…

…except…

…tired…

…

This time, the black shifted.  He felt… he felt…

Air.  Air in his lungs.  Air he pulled into them.

He felt every breath, every muscle stretching.  In. Out. In again. Out again… Over and over and over and over, never stopping.

Breathing was _exhausting._

…

Hot.  Hot again.  Too hot again.

The ice arrived sooner.

In… Out.  In… Out.

“ _Just hold on._ ”

He was too tired to care about words.

In… Out.  In… Out.

The black seemed lighter than before.  Less black, more charcoal grey. 

In… Out. In… Out.

Sometimes he thought he could hear music, echoing from another room...

In… Out.  In… Out.

Other times, he thought he felt touches.  His hands, his face, his hair.  But it wasn’t like he could move himself to check what was pressing on him.

In… Out. In… Out.

The black definitely wasn’t just black anymore.  It wasn’t exactly charcoal grey either.  Shadowy, yes, drapes covering something.  Maybe this place wasn’t totally empty.

And then all of a sudden, like it hadn’t been a problem after all, he discovered he could move.

He could stand.  It took a while, his strange, unbalanced body all wrong, not the right size or shape even though it had to be, right, because it was his? Right? Right.  He made it to his feet, arms outstretched and back stooped to keep him that way.

And when he stood, the shadows withdrew at last.

White space.  But not empty.  Curving hallways, bright lights to guide him…

A ship. The ship. His ship.

_Enterprise._

Relief and happiness swamped him.  At last he was out of the black. At last he was somewhere familiar.

But was he out?

Sound followed him down the corridor.  Indistinct and unrecognisable, nothing stood out from the constant hum of noise.  Nevertheless, he stumbled onwards on heavy feet, hoping to track down someone, anyone.

Who? Who was supposed to be here with him? He couldn’t think of any names or faces.

…Couldn’t think of his own name or face…

The corridor wound to the right, but the going was very, very slow.  He staggered on legs made of rubber, nowhere near strong enough to hold him up.  Clawed hands clung to the bulkhead. He dragged himself onward, past blank white panelling where he felt certain there should’ve been a doorway.

 _Enterprise_ he kept thinking.  _Enterprise,_ you’re supposed to have a door there.  What did you do with it?

 _Enterprise_ didn’t answer. 

His legs gave out and he hit the deck hard.  Black fuzzed at the edges of his vision.  No… no… He didn’t want to go back into...

...Light again.  He had no idea how long it had been.  The whiteness of the ship remained unchanged, although the sounds… maybe they were a little clearer.

…And he was fairly certain whatever language that was, it wasn’t English.  Familiar, yes, but incomprehensible.

…Or maybe he’d just lost his ear for English…

…Except wasn’t he thinking in English?

Confusion drained too much energy.  He had to force himself to focus on his feet, think about every step he had to take.

 _“Wake up now, okay? This is enough.  You’re in there, dammit, I know you are.  Don’t stay gone…_ ”

“ _Your presence is greatly missed._ ”

“ _…suggested I sing to you instead of reading more Tellarite literature, but all I can come up with are lullabies, and we need you to…”_

“… _The ship is so big but when it is on the ground it doesn’t look big enough.  Perhaps it is a trick of the Earthlight? Mr. Scott says…_ ”

“ _I’ll miss the_ Enterprise, _but there’s something really relaxing about tending to a Vulcan orchid.  There aren’t many left, so it’s an honour to be trusted with one.  I’d bring one here, but apparently there’s a chance you’re allergic, so perhaps…_ ”

“… _Aye, he’s a handful, all right.  Did I tell you about the time we had to carry out emergency repairs on the deflector and he just…”_

“… _came running in, grinning with all his front teeth missing and said, ‘Mom, guess what! I won the school science fair!’ and I was so…_ ”

“… _I’m going to make this better.  I’m going to make up for everything he did, I swear…_ ”

He had to get to the voices.  There had to be a way.

Except where the hell had all the doors gone? Why did the corridor continue to turn and yet he was sure, so damn sure, he wasn’t going in circles. 

Where was the fucking way out of this fucking stupid place? He didn’t have time to be lost when he needed to get back out there! He punched a wall in frustration and succeeded in knocking himself off his feet.  His body smacked into the deck and he laughed.  He laughed because if he didn’t, he would cry.

“ _It’s okay.  Let it out.”_

“ _Sorry._   _I’m sorry.  I just… I… This is the first real sign, you know?_ ”

“ _I know, but he’s taking his sweet time, as usual._ ”

Closer.  Closer than before.  He had to get up.  He had to keep moving.

There had to be a way off the deck.  He’d walk in circles if that’s what it took.

Gimmie a door, _Enterprise._ I need one door, that’s all.

“ _…That’s it.  That’s right.  Come on.  Keep going_.  _We’re all out here waiting for you._ ”

He could do it.  He could.  He had to.  There had to be a…

A door.  A door! There! He staggered up to it, fell against it, fell through it when it slid open without warning.

Agony obliterated everything.  Raw nerves grated against each other, sparks setting fires under his skin, his bones molten.  He had no idea if he screamed.  He blacked out, only to awaken in no less pain.  He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t…

The black swallowed him and he sank, deeper and deeper, down, down, down, away from everything, from the agony, from the light, the voices, the _Enterprise_ … deeper, deeper…

Blank.

Black.

“ _…he remember…?_ ”

“ _No…”_

A hand held his.  He felt the squeeze, even if he couldn’t find the strength to open his eyes and look.

“ _I’m here.  You’re doing so well, and I know it hurts, but you’re so close now.  Don’t give up.”_

There’s an edge in that voice, an edge he knows so well it reaches right into the core of his being and pulls, heaves, drags him back, out of the black again. 

Back on the ship again.  He stared at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath.  When he gathered enough energy, he pushed himself upright and looked.

…The door was behind him.  He’d fallen through all right, and he wasn’t going back. 

Okay.  Okay, he could do this. 

He got to his feet and stood straight.  The faintest echo of pain whispered in his body, but he pushed it aside.  This was a new corridor, as bright and curved as the last.  All he had to do was find the next door.

“Sure, easy. I can do that.”

The sound of his own voice startled him slightly.  He laughed at himself for forgetting what he sounded like.

This corridor, unlike the last, had a lot of doorways.  All of them were open, the spaces within drowning in shadows.  Whispers filled the air, hushed voices muttering to themselves about

Dad

Iowa

Red car

_Sabotage_

Space

Tarsus IV

Starvation

Death

Starfleet

Dad

Dockyards

Dad

Bar

Booze

Sex

Forgetitforgetitforgetitall

Blood

Laughter

Tears

Bar

Drink

_Mind your manners_

Farmboy

_Just Uhura_

_Dare you…_

Shuttle

_All I got left…_

Starfleet

Dad

Mom

Academy

Dad

Pike

Kobayashi Maru

Spock

_Enterprise_

_Narada_

Nero

Other Spock

Scotty

Sulu

Chekov

Earth

_Enterprise_

Nibiru

_Pike_

Vengeance

The _Vengeance_

John Harrison

Khan

He hovered at the threshold of the final doorway, peering into the darkness.

Someone was in there.  He could make out the huddled form.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked.

“A challenge,” hissed the voice from within.

It took every shred of nerve within him to keep from backing up.  He knew that voice.  He knew what the man who owned that voice had done…

He was the reason…

“ _We’re here, Jim. Everyone’s waiting for you_.”

He was the reason Jim was trapped on a ship that didn’t make sense.

“Khan.”

The figure stepped out of the shadows, wearing the same disdainful look as he’d had in the brig, the medbay, the _Vengeance…_

“I suggest you start running,” Khan said.  “Run, Kirk, if you don’t want to watch everybody die.”

Alerts sounded.  White light turned red, bathing Khan in a terrible, bloody glow.

“Can you do it again?” Khan asked.

“Do what?” What had he done?

“Core misaligned,” the computer announced.

Kirk turned.  The corridor had disappeared. 

The warp core door stood in front of him, waiting.

“ _It’s okay.  Don’t worry.”_

He had to go in there again, didn’t he?

“ _I’m just getting impatient.”_

Die again.  Burn from the inside out again.

“ _Take your time, Jim.”_

His hand fell upon the manual override.

“ _We’ll still be here._ ”

“Core misaligned.”

Footsteps.  Khan.  “You’re all worthless.  Your struggles are meaningless.  Why do you keep trying?”

Jim threw himself through the door before he could think otherwise.

It hit him straight away.  The sickness, the confusion, the terrible, terrible heat bubbling under his skin.

“Core misaligned.”

He had to do it.  Had to get to it.

_“…and though_   
_We are not now that strength which in old days_   
_Moved earth and heaven… ”  
_

He did it on his hands and knees, vomit dribbling over his lips.

The crew.  The ship.  Nothing else mattered.

_“…that which we are, we are---_   
_One equal temper of heroic hearts…”_

He crawled up the conduit, every motion a wrenching effort.  It was so far, and he was so slow, but he had to reach the core, restore power, save the crew and keep the ship aloft.

_“…Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will…”_

He reached it, hauled himself up, ignored the pain, ignored the tears, ignored the very fact that his own life slowly, surely, definitely…

__“_ …To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.” _

He kicked the core into alignment.  The shockwave tossed him away, useless human debris. 

Black again.

Voices followed him down.

Dad.

Mom.

“ _Let’s call him Jim.”_

“ _I dare you to do better._ ”

He gasped for breath.  His eyes opened.  Light, but not just white.  Daylight.

And buzzing.  What was that buzzing?

“Don’t be so melodramatic.  You were barely dead.”

Bones?

Spock too?

Where? Where was this? What… what had he just? Where had he been? He tried to hold on, tried to remember, but it slipped through his fingers, grains of sand whisked away on an ocean breeze.

Gone.

Spock and Bones spoke.  They explained.  Jim managed to say… something.   
  
Sleep recaptured him.

He fought back, awoke to the sight of his Mom.  She sang him back to sleep.

Back to twinkle stars, the _Enterprise_ and her hallways.

Empty but alive.

Empty but safe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim's got a long road to recovery ahead of him, but he won't be going it alone. 
> 
> Chapter Two - It's hard to keep track of time when you can't stay awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments, kudos and bookmarks! I really appreciate it. Thank you for making me feel so welcome here at AO3.

The next few days followed a pattern.  Jim would wake up, hold embarrassingly brief conversations with whoever was present (Mom/Bones/Spock/Uhura/Sulu/Chekov/Scotty/Carol) and drift off without warning, usually mid-sentence.  Time held little meaning.  Days and nights blended together.  He tried to keep track of time by how light or dark the room was, but facts slipped through his fingers and refused to lock into place.

“You don’t just wake up from a coma, hop out of bed and go back to work,” Bones told him during a lighter time of day.  “Your brain’s essentially coming back online.  It’s got systems checks to run and senses to familiarise itself with.  There’s no method of speeding that up.”

Jim got the feeling he’d been told numerous times, the question certainly felt familiar enough on his tongue, but his memory was ramshackle at best, muddling reality, memory and dreams. 

Not that Bones seemed to mind.  “This is gonna take time.”

Time, Jim thought, was something he had in abundance, even if he did sleep through most of it.

When Bones was around, adjusting the IV, adding new meds to it, running endless scans, he liked to list all the possible complications of undying, but Jim never managed to stay awake for the whole lot.  He tended to drift off somewhere around the ‘barely functioning immune system’ item and awaken to Uhura reading aloud, or Spock calmly telling him nothing was amiss, there was no need for concern, he need only focus on his own recovery… and then Jim would be gone again and when he dragged his eyes open Sulu would be updating his music program, or Chekov would excitedly extol the wonders of Russian ingenuity, or Scotty would keep apologising again and again no matter how many times Jim tried to make him stop.  Keenser would just shake his head and shrug apologetically because he couldn’t make Scotty pack it in either, except when Jim managed to ask a question about the _Enterprise_ and he nodded off to excited Scottish ramblings.  Sometimes he’d awaken to find Carol at his side, but she was always quiet.  That didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate her company.

And Mom.  He wanted to say so many things to her, but he could never get it all out in time. Or in the right order.  Things kept getting muddled.  Not that she minded.  She seemed to already know exactly what was on his mind even if he couldn’t string a clear sentence together.

“It’s a Mom thing,” she whispered conspiratorially, like children weren’t supposed to know such information. 

Time passed; a few days by Jim’s best guess.  Sleep remained a constant companion.  He couldn’t get enough; he never woke up refreshed.  But he was awake now, daylight creeping around the room’s blinds. Spock was with him, talking about Khan’s imprisonment.  Jim was sure Spock was missing huge parts of the story, but before he could tell him to cut the bullshit and give actual details of how the hell Khan had been captured, the vision in his left eye suddenly fuzzed out.

Spock frowned slightly. “Jim?”

Pain crept softly into his skull and took up residence, increasing with every passing moment.  Not good.  Very not good.  Sinking down in the bed, Jim pulled the blanket over his head to shut out the light.  “I need Bones.”

“Doctor McCoy is currently off-duty.” Spock pressed the call button.  “Help is coming.”

The severe migraine led to his first (conscious) encounter with one Doctor Philip Boyce.  Spock was ushered out.  Jim didn’t have the energy to offer any kind of farewell, although he knew Spock was far too logical to be concerned about such a thing.  The migraine consumed Jim’s attention.  Moving angered it.  He needed stillness, darkness, silence…

“Sorry to do this to you, but for the next twenty-four hours you’ll be in isolation.” Boyce didn’t sound particularly sorry, but he spoke softly and ensured the room was pitch-black.  “You suffered from a number of infections while you were unconscious, and we need to make sure the migraine isn’t masking anything else.  For it to register at all is somewhat worrying.  You’re on quite the cocktail of painkillers.”

Possessing neither the strength nor the will to respond, Jim did nothing besides breathing, eyes squeezed shut. He made a mental note to ask about all the drugs flowing through his body.  What were the chances he would form some kind of addiction?

Thinking worrying thoughts was not helpful right now.

Jim forced himself to take long, slow breaths, anything to keep the nausea at bay.  The idea of throwing up right now…

He needn’t have worried.  Boyce injected something into the IV and the drugs carried him away into total oblivion. 

Boyce was still there when Jim awoke minutes or hours later, the headache dialled down but still there.  He opened his eyes to a room still swathed in near-total darkness.  A few soft lights shone here and there, but nothing stabbed needles into his eyes. 

“So far, so good,” the older doctor said softly.  “It looks like the migraine is a side-effect of Doctor McCoy’s treatment and not some secondary ailment.”  

“That’s great,” Jim managed.  Boyce’s mention of Bones got him thinking.  “How’s – ” 

“Your crew is fine.  Resting, if they’ve got any sense.  And if they haven’t, well, that’s why I’ve got a medical override.” 

The older man’s smile haunted Jim’s dreams.  Apparently Bones wasn’t the only doctor in Starfleet who wielded a sinister smile. 

The next time he awoke, chased out of sleep by a bizarre combination of nightmares and memories he didn’t care to dwell on, Jim found himself alone in the dark.  No one else lurked in the shadows. 

For the first time since childhood, he didn’t like the darkness. It pressed down on him, concealing things.  What if it took him again? What if its nothingness captured him and never let him go? 

“Don’t be stupid,” he told himself.  “Don’t be an idiot.” 

His voice shook anyway. 

He wanted to escape into sleep again, but for the first time in however-the-fucking-long it had been since he’d first woken up, rest didn’t come easily.  Despite his bone-crushing weariness, his mind turned away from his body and onto other matters. 

Matters like Pike. 

Pike, whose advice Jim desperately yearned for.  On the day he’d first met that man and taken up his challenge, Jim knew Pike was the one person he wanted to impress… and later on that feeling morphed into a need to make the man proud of him.  Maybe he hadn’t done so well to begin with, but he’d made it through… he’d earned Pike’s approval and trust… 

And then thrown it all in his face with Nibiru. 

…Except he’d had to save Spock. 

And Pike had still come to find him, determined to teach him right from wrong.  Pike would always be the first person who had taken a chance on him, trusted him to shine and never let him down. 

Jim would take an angry lecture, even an outright disappointment again, if it meant… if he could say sorry. 

Say _thank you._

Instead, Pike’s sightless eyes haunted him. 

He wouldn’t be proud of Jim now.  Forget the eleventh hour save.  Everything that had led up to it was a fucking shitstorm.  It would’ve horrified Pike to know what Jim had nearly done, the ruin he’d nearly brought upon the Federation by giving into his need for revenge and ignoring everything Starfleet stood for… 

…Supposedly stood for.  Section Thirty-One must have missed the ‘peace-keeping armada’ memo.

Jim would do anything to have Pike around to shout at him.  Instead, his mentor had died in fear and pain and loneliness. 

Crying didn’t do his headache any good whatsoever. Angered by his emotions, the pain stepped up. His brain rattled around his skull, bouncing off bone.  He clamped his hands to his head, teeth gritted against the agony pounding behind his eyes.

It was Boyce who came in yet again, hypospray in hand, summoned by panicky biomonitors.  

“Where’s Bones?” Jim asked, keeping his face buried in the pillow.  The room’s lack of light wouldn’t be enough to hide the tears on his face. 

“Sleeping, if he’s as smart as they say.  If he isn’t, he will tomorrow when I forcibly sedate him.” 

Whatever was in the hypo brought a fresh wave of tiredness over Jim, but not fast enough to smother the guilt. 

“It’s my fault,” Jim whispered. 

“No, that’s called being a doctor. 

But it was his fault.  Bones, Pike… _Everything_. 

The guilt followed him down.  In his nightmares, he watched the whole mess over and over.  Pike dead, the crew staring at him with looks of barely concealed confusion and nervousness… and then there were dead Klingons, frozen people, Marcus’ arrogance, Khan’s rage and the ship falling, falling, falling… Death raced towards Jim, a black abyss rising up to suffocate him and steal anyone too slow to escape it. 

Jim slammed into wakefulness, daylight stabbing into him.  He tried to raise an arm to shield his eyes but only succeeded in smacking himself when his arm flopped down.  He groaned at himself.  

What a wreck.  

“Bad dream?” 

He startled so badly the heart monitor chimed a warning. 

“Hey, hey.” A familiar hand, smooth and cool, brushed his cheek.  Bones sat on the edge of the bed, clad in a fresh uniform and smelling shower fresh.  Worry shone in his eyes.  “It’s okay. You’re safe.” 

Jim nodded, his brain shrugging off the lingering images.  “Did you sleep?” he eventually asked, his voice still hoarse with exhaustion. 

“Boyce talked to you about that, did he?” Bones produced a glass of water, stuck a straw in and passed it to Jim.  “Yeah, I did, thanks. A whole eight hours.  Boyce told me you were awake during the night.” 

“He’s scarier than you,” Jim said after draining half the glass.  The cool liquid felt wonderful, soothing his sore throat.  “Don’t let me piss that guy off.  I don’t wanna know what he’ll do if I accidentally insult his hypo technique or whatever.” 

“Who, Boyce? He’s a teddy bear.” 

“Sure he is.” 

“He told me about the migraine.  Sorry ‘bout that.” 

“I don’t think you have to be sorry about anything ever again,” Jim said around a big yawn. 

“Oh, really now?” 

Jim waved a hand.  Or he tried.  It was more of a flop.  “I’m breathing when I should be dead.  Congratulations, Bones.  You have earned a lifelong reprieve from apologising to me about anything. Spock too.  And Uhura.  And Scotty. And – ” 

“Yeah, okay.” Bones laughed.  “When you’re less drugged up and slightly more coherent, I’ll remind you about that.” 

Jim stared at the IV still stuck in the back of his hand.  It occurred to him for the first time he didn’t really know what else was crawling through his veins, beside a whole host of painkillers and, of course, the serum made of Khan’s blood.  “I’m meant to ask you about what you’ve dosed me with…” 

“You’re not an addict.” 

Jim stared at him.  “Why can you read minds?” 

“Shh, it’s my deepest secret.”  

“Really?” 

“Unbelievable.” Bones peered at him.  “Are you awake at all?

“Uh…” 

“We’re still supporting your immune system and I know the migraine probably makes you think otherwise, but you’re pretty doped up.  It’s not very often a body has to rebuild itself like yours has.  You don’t want to try this without what we’ve got you on.” 

Jim chose not to comment.

“But hopefully it won’t last much longer.  The major damage healed while you were in the coma; it’s just the lingering effects of radiation we have to treat.  If you can stay migraine free for today, we’ll see about trading meds tomorrow so you’re not so tired all the time." 

“Great.”

McCoy’s eyebrow shot upwards.  “Try not to get too excited.”

Jim cursed inwardly.  “Sorry.  It’s good. I’m just…”

Thinking of Pike.

Embarrassed.

Guilty.

Ashamed.

Sorry. So, so sorry.

And yeah, he was –

“Tired, I know.” Bones patted his leg and stood up.  “It’s frustrating, but sleep’s the best thing for you right now.”

“Don’t s’pose you’ve got anything to stop nightmares?”

The ensuing silence told Jim he’d foolishly spoken aloud.

Bones sat on the bed again.  “Talk to me.”

“I’m fine,” Jim said, even though his voice wavered and cracked.

“Jim…”

“Sorry, Bones.” He cleared his throat and did his best to straighten up.  “It’s nothing.  I’m fine, really.”

“No, you’re not, and you’re not going to be for a while yet.  Can you do me one favour?”

Jim swallowed nervously but forced himself to meet his friend’s gaze.

“Don’t try and go through this alone.  We all care about you, and we all want to help.  You’re allowed to mourn and you’re allowed to feel like shit.”

“That’s good,” Jim murmured.  “Because I feel like shit someone ran down then backed over.”

But he shouldn’t be complaining, least of all to Bones.  He should be thankful he could feel anything.

“Sorry.”

For a moment, Bones swelled in a way that usually preceded a lecture.  But he just sighed, muttered something about idiots and went back to work, leaving Jim to his thoughts.

Thoughts that turned back to the warp core, radiation, dying slowly but too fast at the same time… He knew he’d been going to his death.  As soon as the thought _I have to fix the core_ launched itself across his mind, he’d known what would happen and he hadn’t given himself any time to think better of it.

Because there wasn’t a ‘better’.  There was just death for everyone.

The needs of the many…

He’d raced to his own death, driven so far out of his mind by horror and pain, fear alone kept him moving.  Fear of failing the crew.  Fear of what would happen if the _Enterprise_ crashed.  It hadn’t been anything heroic; he’d accepted his duty to his crew and his fate.  And as he’d had that final conversation with Spock, desperate to make the Vulcan understand what friendship meant, and sobbing when Spock understood, Jim’s thoughts had taken on a feverish clarity.

_I’m sorry I can’t tell you how much our friendship means, Bones._

_I’m sorry I can’t say sorry, Scotty._

_I’m sorry I ever disrespected you, Uhura._

_I’m sorry I put you under so much pressure, Chekov._

_I’m sorry for forcing you to make threats like that, Sulu._

_Dad. I get it now.  But I am so, so, so scared._

_I don’t want to die._

And then… fading.  Fading and…

Nothing.  There was nothing.  Nothing at all until he’d awoken in this bed, heart pounding, chest heaving like he’d sprinted from one side of the _Enterprise_ to the other uphill.  Twice.  With low oxygen in heavy gravity.

And Pike wasn’t there to congratulate him then tear him a new one for creating such a mess in the first place.

“Jim?”

He startled, not noticing when Bones had returned to his side.  Jim could feel the tears on his cheeks.  He broke down without warning, emotions roaring through him.

“I’m sorry,” he wept.  “I’m so, so, so sorry.  Bones, I never meant –”

“Shhh.” Bones pulled Jim into a rough hug.  “I know. I know.”

“I owe you everything.” Not that those words were enough, but for now they would have to do. 

Bones pulled himself together first.  “You’ve got another thing coming if you think you can just die like that.  And don’t you dare try it again.”

“I screwed everything up.”

“No you didn’t.  You did the best with what you had.”

“I don’t even know how many of the crew I lost!”

“You save more than you lost.”

“I shouldn’t have lost any! What was I doing? Pike wouldn’t have wanted…”

Sorrow squeezed him, choking off his words.  It had stolen something from him and left an empty space in its wake. 

“I can give you the cliché’s about needing time and all that, but you know why they’re clichés? ‘Cause it’s true.  In time you’ll make sense of it.  One way or another.”

Tears washed over Jim’s cheeks.  He stared at himself, at the blanket covering his weakened body.  “I don’t know how to do this.”

“You don’t have to do anything alone.”

“Pike’s gone,” Jim whispered.

“I know.  I’m so sorry.”

With Bones watching over him, Jim cried himself back to a thankfully blank sleep.

Uhura was at his side when he next awoke.  She greeted him with a gentle smile.  “You’re looking better,” she said.

“Thanks.  Good to see you too,” he said around a yawn.  He rubbed sore eyes, wondering how obvious it was he’d been crying.  His cheeks itched under dried tear tracks.  “What time’s it?”

“Lunch time,” she said vaguely.  “Why? Are you hungry?”

“No.” He wondered about that, but not too much.

“Spock wanted to come too, but I made him stay at home.  He needs to rest.”

“I’m sorry he’s so busy,” Jim said.

“Sorry?” Uhura echoed.  “You don’t need to be.”

“I should be out there, helping, telling the admirals to back off or… or whatever…” Because Jim could imagine only too well the bureaucratic nightmare the whole incident had stirred up, and the thought of being pulled into it any time soon filled him with heavy, stomach-sinking dread.

How the hell was he going to talk his way out of this one?

“You’re doing what you need to do right here,” Uhura said.  “Taking care of yourself.  That’s what everyone wants.  There’s nothing else for you to do.”

“Except say thank you.  Bones… He said you helped too… with, uh, with Khan and… and everything.”

“You’re welcome.”

That was Uhura, eternally gracious.

Spock was very lucky.

“You’re awesome,” he said.

She laughed.  “That’s good to know.”

He blushed.  What was with his inability to keep his thoughts from tumbling out?

“I bumped into your mom earlier,” Uhura went on.  “She is so excited to be working on the _Enterprise.”_  

“Please tell me she isn’t breaking out the baby pictures.”

“There was one of you in a space pirate outfit.  She said you had a phase…”

Jim was utterly mortified.  “She didn’t!”

Uhura laughed.  “Don’t worry, I think she only showed me.  You were adorable.  You had a nice bowl cut too.  It was very Vulcan of you.”

“Stop, please.” If he went any redder, he’d probably trigger some kind of fever alert on the monitor.

Uhura relented.  “She really is busy working on the ship. She told me about some of the upgrades they’re hoping to install once the structural work is complete.  Scotty is very happy to have her.  Listening to the two of them can be a little overwhelming, actually.”

A new kind of dread drove Jim to sit a little straighter.  “Ah, there’s nothing, er… I mean they’re not… um…”

“No! It’s strictly professional.”

Jim actually sank a little in his bed.  “Okay, because that would be too weird.”

“Way too weird,” Uhura agreed.

They talked about random things, nothing serious and absolutely nothing related to the world outside Jim’s corner of the hospital.  He didn’t really know what was going on, hadn’t been awake enough to think about what had happened after he’d…

After he’d died.

He just had a feeling a lot of information was being kept from him.

“Captain?”

“Sorry.” He straightened and dragged his wandering mind back.  “I was thinking about stuff.” 

“What kind of stuff?” She gave him a look he’d referred to as the ‘Don’t Bullshit Uhura Unless You Want To Receive Non-Verbal Threats of Violence’ waaaaay back at the Academy.

His resistance crumbled.  “What’s going on out there?”

The glare died.  Actually, it shifted, no longer aimed at him.  “Just the Admiralty being stupid,” she said.  “Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Yet,” he muttered. 

“No, never.  If they can’t get it through their thick heads that the only reason there isn’t an _Enterprise_ shaped hole somewhere on the planet’s surface is thanks to what you did, we’ll just have to keep saying it in every known language until they get it.  I’ll draw stick figures with crayons if I have to.”

Her words triggered a faint smile, but his thoughts picked up on something else in her words.  “What about the _Vengeance_? If we were pulled down by Earth’s gravity, it must’ve…”

Realisation dawned.

Uhura’s eyes widened.    

“It crashed,” Jim stated.

Uhura held out for a second.  “He, Khan, crashed it on purpose.  It was after...” She stopped and bowed her head.  The curtain of her hair fell over her face.  Jim wanted to reach out, but before he could move, she pulled herself upright.  “It was after you’d died.  Khan crashed the ship into the bay.  He took out a lot of Headquarters and flooded parts of the city, but repairs are coming along well.  People really came together.”

For a moment, he forgot how to breathe.  The room faded, his mind swamped with images of destruction. 

“Captain?”

The tremble in Uhura’s voice snapped him back to reality.  He caught his breath and quelled the flutter of nerves in his belly.  “How many died?”

She shook her head. “I can’t tell you that.  Doctor McCoy will be so angry.  He’s been so worried about you.  He just wants you to recover before you have to face what’s out there.  We all do.”

“I know.” But Jim could imagine the devastation a ship that size would cause.  His body trembled as he tried to picture the devastation and the awful losses.

As soon as he had access to a PADD, he’d find out the numbers himself.

“Jim.”

The use of his name startled him.  He looked at her, saw the fire in her eyes and the determined set to her features.

“Don’t you dare let this bring you down.  You are not to blame.  Khan is, and Marcus too.  Never forget it.”

“I…”

She stunned him again by grabbing his hands and holding them tight.  “You have nothing to apologise for.”

“I should be doing more.”

Starting with writing letters to the families of the crewmembers who hadn’t survived the clash with the _Vengeance._ It had to be done and it had to come from him.  He clung onto Uhura’s hands, trying to keep himself tied to reality before another nightmare carried him away.

“Leave it to us.”

“How can I?” His body tingled with a need to get up, move and help out, three things that were woefully beyond him right now.  “I’m being useless in here.”

“No, you’re not,” Uhura stated firmly.  “You died for us, to make sure we had a chance.  What we’re doing now is the only way we can pay back that sacrifice.”

Despite the guilt, the horror, the sheer enormity of what was happening outside his hospital room, Jim settled.  “I’ll help out as soon as I can though, okay? Any way I can.  I’ll bake cookies or make coffee or something.”

“I know you will.”  Uhura tried to smile, but the heartbreak registered too clearly on her face.  “I’m sorry you had to learn this way.  I’m sorry it happened at all.”

He squeezed her hands.  “If I don’t get to brood, you don’t either.”

Her smile looked better, but not by much.  “Okay. Promise.”

Settling back against his cushions, he released a breath.  “Good.”

They talked for a while about other things.  Uhura discussed her family, how glad they were to have her back on Earth, how she hoped they’d be meeting Spock soon.  Her warm voice washed over him, and although it couldn’t erase his mounting anxieties, she helped nudge them aside for a while.

He didn’t notice his eyes growing heavy until he realised they were shut.

“Tired?” Uhura asked.

He managed to turn his head towards her.  His eyes, however, refused to open.  Sleep overtook him, even as his mind whirled at the thought of the things he needed to do.  “Sorry.”

“Forget it.  It’s good to talk to you, even if you do fall asleep all the time,” Uhura said.  “Talking at you was strange.”

“Hmm?” He was drifting again, his hands losing their grip on Uhura’s, his tether to the waking world fraying.

“I read to you while you were in the coma.”

Something tickled in the back of his mind.  “Not in English.”

He fell asleep before he could hear her response.

He was alone again when he awoke again in the dark.  It was the middle of the night and the only visitor was a nurse checking his monitor and asking if he needed anything.

“A PADD?”

She shook her head apologetically.  “Doctor McCoy’s got a very strict ban on those.”

Jim sighed.  “Of course he has.”

He remembered Sulu’s music station.  The nurse passed it to him and he scrolled through the playlists and albums, grateful for his and Sulu’s shared love of Twentieth and Twenty-First Century music.  The ancient sound of Daft Punk’s _Random Access Memories_ filled the otherwise quiet room and distracted him through the sudden hours of sleeplessness.  Insomnia wasn’t anything new, but it was a strange feeling after spending so much time asleep.  However, his exhaustion held on tight.  He stared at the ceiling, mind wandering.  His thoughts weren’t cohesive and drifted into obscurity without warning.  He’d start a thought about the _Enterprise_ and end it with a flashback to childhood.

Midway through a mentally rehearsed apology he wished he could give Pike, just as dawn crept through the blinds, Jim slipped under sleep’s current once again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim's got a long road to recovery ahead of him, but he won't be going it alone. 
> 
> Chapter Three - Jim has to come to terms with a few harsh realities

All the sleeping and waking destroyed any sense of time Jim might have had.  He couldn’t tell how many days had passed since that initial lurch into consciousness.  He figured it was more than four but less than seven, but Bones wasn’t particularly keen on giving specifics. 

He was also extremely unhappy to discover Jim knew about the state of San Francisco and Starfleet HQ. 

“It’s okay, Bones,” Jim said. “It’s not like I’ve got the energy to jump out and rebuild anything.”

“Don’t you even try.  Don’t you even joke about it.  Do you know what would happen if you tried to get out of bed right now?”

Jim grimaced.  “I’ve got a pretty good idea, thanks.”

“We’ll get to physiotherapy in a few days.  We’ve got another hurdle to clear first.”

“Hurdle?” Jim asked, stomach fluttering.

“Two, actually.  One, it’s time to change your meds.  And two,” Bones pointed at the IV, “that’s coming out and we’re reintroducing food.”

Three hours later, Jim learned to appreciate broth.

…Or at least how he learned to not think about it as he swallowed it and ignored the unpleasant lumps and bumps hidden in its brown depths.

He also discovered how little food it took to fill his stomach, and how little endurance he possessed.  He only just managed to put the spoon back in the bowl before he had to sit on his hand to make it stop shaking. 

Bones took notes (literally, on his PADD) with a raised eyebrow.  “It’ll get – ”

Jim sighed.  “Better, give it time, I know.”

“Look at you, finishing my sentences.”

“Like old times.”

“Actually, I was gonna say how nice to know you’re actually listening for once.” Bones chose that moment to pluck the IV out of his other, not sat upon hand.

“Argh!”

“Don’t be such an infant.” He dabbed it dry and stuck a small wad of gauze over the tiny bleed.  “We’ll be delivering the new painkillers by hypo every four hours.  Try not to shout too much.”

Jim shot him a dirty look.  “Hah hah.”

The change in medication proved to be a double-edged sword.  Jim stayed awake for longer, but during those extra hours of wakefulness, he struggled with constant pain.  Everything ached, the very fibres of his body swollen and healing.  His stomach ached fiercely and no matter how he sat or laid, he didn’t stay comfortable for long.  Bones wanted to put him back on the stronger stuff, but Jim refused.  He told himself over and over the pain meant he was alive, and that was better than sleep and nightmares.

And definitely better than death. 

He believed it too.  He’d be a selfish bastard if he didn’t. 

The day passed slowly. So, so slowly.  His mom visited in the afternoon, but with so much of his mind suddenly consumed with pain, he wasn’t much of a conversationalist.

And during the brief moments when pain didn’t consume his mind, a train of thoughts so long it probably stretched all the way to the Delta Quadrant did instead.

Spock, unlike Bones, was very willing to give Jim a timeline when he dropped by in the early evening, his cocked eyebrow revealing exactly how illogical he considered the doctor’s refusal to explain.  “Six days have now passed since your initial awakening.  Your progress is to be commended.”

“Commended,” Jim echoed with a faint laugh that was really nothing like a laugh at all.  He shifted, trying to ease the ache in his guts.  “Remind me to kick you out before dinnertime.  You’ll downgrade me to _excessive resting still required._ ” The thought of eating made him want to throw up.

“Compared to your previous condition, your recovery is impressive, although I suspect you would consider it too slow.”

Jim closed his eyes as a sharp pain shot through his stomach.  “Ah, yeah, sorry.  I shouldn’t be so impatient, I know.” A tiny groan escaped him as he wrapped his arms around his stomach.

“Do you require Doctor McCoy?”

“No.  I require distraction.”

“I would offer a game of chess but perhaps it is too soon for me to challenge you.”

“Yeah, probably.” Oh shit, shit, shit, he was going to be sick. 

Thankfully, Spock was a science officer, recognised the signs and provided a bowl in time. 

“That’s nasty,” Jim said, sitting back with his eyes shut.  “Sorry, Spock.”

“There is no need to –”

“I’m pretty sure what you just did for me isn’t anywhere in your job description.”

“And yet, as you have gone to great lengths to impress upon me, we are friends.” Spock put the bowl aside and pressed the call button.

“Yeah, I know, but still, I’m sorry.”

“Jim –”

“And I’m sorry you’re having to deal with the admirals alone.  That’s my job.”

“And will be your job again once you are well enough to withstand the questioning.”

“Withstand?”

Spock’s eyebrows twitched.  “Indeed.”

Jim stared at Spock in disbelief.  “Are you frustrated?”

“I do not – ”

“Come on, Spock, you can tell me.”

Spock deflated ever so (oh ever so) slightly.  “I find their illogical insistence to repeat a standard set of questions differing only in wording to be… tiresome.”

“Frustrating,” Jim corrected.

“Perhaps.” That was a definite concession, coming from Spock.

“Have you tried telling them?”

“On numerous occasions.  They did not appreciate my observations.”

Had his stomach not been so tight and uncomfortable, Jim would’ve allowed himself a proper laugh.  Instead he had to smother it and focus on breathing regularly to hold another round of _Broth: Revisited_ at bay.

The churning mess of thoughts in his head didn’t help either. “Spock?”

Spock waited patiently as Jim struggled to find the proper wording.

“Do you think they’ll send me back to the Academy?” It was one of the thoughts that occupied his mind during his private sleepless hours.  “Pike said… I mean, before he…”

“The admiralty will do whatever they see fit, regardless of how illogical their decisions are.”

Jim was usually grateful for Spock’s inability to sugarcoat things, but not this time.

“You must not focus your attention on anything beyond your own health and recovery,” Spock said.

“Sorry.  Call it an illogical human reaction to… to…” A fresh wave of pain tore through his guts.  He had nothing left in him to lose, but his stomach tried anyway.

Bones came in, greeted Spock and kicked him out.  After bidding Jim good night, Spock left.  Bones had his tricorder out and made his diagnosis moments later: radiation damage to the lining of his stomach and intestine.  The food was too heavy. 

“But it’s just soup,” Jim said.

“Broth,” Bones said.  “There’s a difference.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Jim received a dose of anti-nausea drugs and his broth was switched out for something plain, watery and tasteless.

“Sorry to do it to you, but we knew there’d be complications and the only way to deal with them is as they come up,” Bones said as he noted down the changes on Jim’s chart.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

“You sure you don’t want anything stronger for the pain?”

“No.  Being awake is better.” No nightmares with his eyes open and he had Sulu’s music and melodiously read poetry to keep himself distracted.

“Okay, but tell me if it gets any worse.”

“Aren’t the monitors here for that?”

“Yeah, but honesty would be appreciated.”

“Okay.”

Jim refused to bitch and complain.  He wouldn’t tell them about the nightmares either.  How could he? How could he dump anything else on the people he owed his life to?

He couldn’t share his sorrow either, burying it under fake smiles or excuses.  It worked on some people, but not everyone and especially not his mother.  She understood loss, she knew what to say or, better still, when not to say anything. 

But improvements did happen.  As Jim’s first week of wakefulness drew to an end and the pain dulled into ignorable if grating aches, Jim could sit up for longer and even managed to concentrate on a novel – paperback though, because PADDs remained out of reach at all times.  He also managed to stay awake through more of the day (and the night, until Bones caught on and had something added to his meds to make sure he slept, the sly bastard).  The crew visited too, determined to keep him company, but Jim knew they wanted to protect him too.  But not from whatever was going on beyond the four walls of his hospital room. 

They protected him from Starfleet.

The admirals.

Section Thirty-One, or whatever remained of it.

Chekov seemed especially determined.  “You must not talk to them about Doctor McCoy’s serum,” he whispered during a sunny morning visit, eyes casting around as if he expected to find bugs placed in the furniture or secret agents listening in from outside (despite Jim’s room being on the fortieth floor).  “Imagine if they found out! They would lock you away and stick you with hypos until your blood is drained dry!”

“Has Bones been telling you horror stories?” Jim asked.

Shaking his head, Chekov’s look of dismay did not fade.  “Imagine what monsters they would create! It would be very bad!”

The kid’s sincerity would be funny if the thought of Bones’ miracle cure in anyone else’s hands wasn’t so utterly horrifying.  “Don’t worry, Chekov, I’m great at bullshitting people.”

“That is good to hear, Captain.  You will need to bullshit them a lot.”

Hearing Chekov swear, however, was hilarious.

The door swished open.  “If you’re laughing that hard, maybe it’s time to get you out of this room,” Bones declared.  “You’ve obviously got a touch of what they used to call cabin fever but I just call Kirkitus.”

Jim wiped tears of laughter from his eyes.  “Wait, what?”

“Because the captain is so bad at sitting still, yes?”

“Gold star for Wonderboy.” Bones’ hand clapped Chekov’s shoulder. 

Chekov actually smiled bashfully.

Jim stared at them as though they had betrayed him.

“Chekov, do me a favour and get one of the nurses to bring in a hoverchair, would you?”

With an eager “Aye, doctor!” the young man disappeared.

“Kirkitus, Bones, really?”

“Really.  Now, there’s one other thing we need to address before we get you out of bed.” Bones looked at Jim’s –

Oh.

Oh!

“Oh, hell, no Bones!”

“You want out of that bed, you can’t take a bag of piss with you.”

Gah! “Did you have to say it like that?”

“It’s the truth.  So, you ready? I promise I won’t look too hard.”

“Shut up.” Jim could feel his cheeks glowing a rosy red.  He kept his eyes firmly on the blanket over his legs.  “Does it have to be you?”

“Not going coy on me, are you, Jim?”

Shuffling uncomfortably, Jim allowed his burning face to speak for him.

Bones patted his arm.  “Boyce?”

Jim locked his gaze on the wall to his left.  “You are enjoying this way too much.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Except Bones was laughing too much to sound sincere.  “Simple fact is medicine’s always gonna be a bit… messy.”

Jim tried not to dwell on that.

Bones finally stopped.  “A nurse?”

Jim nodded. “Thanks.”

At that moment, Chekov returned with a nurse and a hoverchair.  While Chekov chatted with Jim, apparently blind to his CO’s embarrassment, Bones took the nurse to one side.  After the brief discussion, Bones led Chekov out and the nurse turned to Jim with a friendly smile.  He was younger than Jim, extremely cheery and quite possibly newly qualified. 

Jim just about resisted the urge to cross his legs.

“Hi, I’m Nurse Xian.”

“Hi.” Jim cleared his throat.  “Um… Guess you’re here to, ah… free me?”

“Yep!” Xian pulled the blanket away.

Never in his life had Jim wanted to suddenly and inexplicably sink into the floor.

“Ready?”

“No.”

Xian laughed.  “Don’t worry. Just take a deep breath.”

Jim refused to look. 

He didn’t think too hard either.

“Here we go.”

A strangled squawk escaped Jim. 

Xian swore to never speak of anything ever.

Ever.

“I’ll get Doctor McCoy.”

“Good. Great.” Jim wiped the pained tears from his face and tried not to think about what had just happened. 

To his immense relief, Bones didn’t have any more jokes to crack.  “Ready to try your legs out?”

Jim nodded, wishing his knees didn’t feel weak already.  Damn, but that was a pain no one should ever have to experience.  If it was possible to beam someone from a ship to planet, couldn’t they find a better way of –

"You with me, kid?”

Jim nodded.  “Where are we gonna go?”

“Let’s just get you in the chair first, okay?”

“Okay.” Jim shifted his body until his legs swung over the bed’s edge.  It felt odd to have nothing supporting his back, and for a moment he clung onto the bedframe, slightly worried he might tip over. 

Bones held out his arms.  “Ready?”

Jim’s hands clamped onto Bones’ elbows.  He nodded.  His bare feet slid to the floor.  “Cold,” he muttered. 

He stood.

For roughly one point five seconds. 

Bones caught him as Jim’s legs turned to jelly, his hands slipping under Jim’s arms.  “It’s okay.  There’s no rush.  This is normal.”

“Normal?” Jim gasped.  “My legs don’t work.”

“Slow down.  Get them under you.”

Struggling more than he thought he would, more than he wanted to, Jim tried to make his legs respond.  Everything trembled, his strength pitiful, but with Bones providing a sturdy support, Jim successfully stood up.

He nearly wept, feeling both ecstatic and embarrassed at once.  Instead, he crushed the emotional response as successfully as a Vulcan and wouldn’t that level of control impress Spock?

“It’s a few steps to the chair.  You up to it?”

Gritting his teeth, eyes glued to his feet, Jim took a step.  Bones said nothing, and that was perfect, because he knew better than to utter any kind of nonsensical praise.

Jim reached the chair after taking four steps from the bed, sat down and took a few moments to catch his breath.

Bones still said nothing.

“PT’s gonna be fun,” Jim mumbled.  His legs hadn’t stopped shaking.

Bones passed a blanket over.  “You’ll get there.”

Folding it over his bare legs, Jim leaned back and closed his eyes.  “I know.  I’m just being impatient.”

“If there was ever a time for you to learn patience, it’s now.” Bones pushed him out the door.  The corridor was every bit as white, quiet and clean as Jim’s room.  “Medicine’s come a long way, but there are times when the only thing left is time and your body’s own regenerative abilities.”

“I’ll try, I swear I will,” Jim said, keeping the rest of his complaints to himself.  “So, where we going?”

“Figured we should probably see how the fresh air treats you.”

“We’re going outside?”

“To the roof.”

Jim glanced at the sunny sky through a tinted window.  “You mean it’s actually spring out there?”

“Eh, you’ve got a blanket.”

Jim laughed.  “Gotta love San Francisco.”

A lift took them up. They emerged on a not so shiny floor, an area of the hospital dedicated to power generators, air conditioning units and various other infrastructure odds and ends, and definitely used as a dumping ground.  Bones deftly manoeuvred the chair past dusty piles of broken beds and outmoded equipment. 

They stopped at a door marked ROOF ACCESS.  Bones pushed it open and sunlight burst through, fresh air whistling around them.  Jim’s eyes slowly adjusted as Bones wheeled him out.  He took in the sight of a bright blue sky, relishing the sun’s warmth touching his skin and the taste of fresh air in every breath.

“Thanks, Bones,” he said.  “This feels great.”

“You’re welcome. Figured we’d better make the most of the sun before the fog rolls back in.”

From where they were, the view of anything beyond the roof remained obscured by the hospital’s ventilation system and solar panels.  Jim wanted to see the city, but at the same time, maybe for just a moment, he wanted to selfishly enjoy being alive.

But he had to accept reality.  He needed to know what was going on out there.

“Okay.”

Bones stared down at him.  “Okay what?”

“Okay, let me see it.”

“See what?”

“The city, Bones.  I wanna see…”

“You’re sure?”

Jim stared at him.  He’d expected arguments, debates, Bones telling him he had to watch his stress levels otherwise he’d risk complications and blahdiblahblahblah.

Bones cocked an eyebrow.  “You really think I didn’t expect you to ask?”

“I expected more ‘dammit, Jim, just enjoy the sunshine.  You don’t need to look at a damaged city when you’re a goddamn wreck yourself’.”

“That’s the worst accent I’ve ever heard out of anyone.”

“Please, it was awesome.”

“And you’re not a wreck.  I’ve worked hard to put you back together.”

“Sorry,” Jim said meekly.

“Just… just prepare yourself for the worst, okay? It’s not good.  I mean, it could be worse, obviously, but it’s not exactly the city you’re used to.”

“All right.”

Without further comment, Bones pushed him past the air vents and out to open space.  The city spewed out ahead of them, the damage blatant even from with the distance.  Buildings had disappeared, the great wide sky visible when it should have been obscured by numerous skyscrapers.

But something else pulled Jim’s gaze down.  The sight of the _Vengeance,_ encased in the very destruction it had caused, stole his breath.  Like an unwelcome tumour, the rest of the city had to adapt to its presence.  Construction vehicles surrounded the downed ship, but where did you begin with dismantling such a massive craft?

Jim shook his head like maybe he could dislodge the faux image in front of his eyes and reveal the San Francisco he remembered.  But it didn’t work.  The horror in front of him remained.  He couldn’t deny it, couldn’t escape it, he could only stare and tremble.

Thousands must have died.

Thousands had died, and he alone had come back.

“Jim?”

His voice wouldn’t come out.  A strange gasp preceded silent tears.  He stared and stared and stared and it didn’t make sense because how was a _spaceship_ sitting in the city? Where had half of Starfleet’s HQ gone? So many lives lost, and for what? Other people’s stupid, pointless, meaningless, thoughtless cruelty? What was the point of it?

Bones crouched in front of him.  “The city will recover.  Starfleet too.”

The words barely registered.  How much of it was his fault? If he’d… if he hadn’t…

Jim’s mind buzzed, running over what had happened, what could’ve happened if the _Enterprise_ had crashed too, what might’ve happened if he’d been better, smarter, not so fucking naïve.

If he’d listened to everyone sooner.

If he hadn’t been so blind.

If Pike hadn’t died.

“Jim?”

But he couldn’t speak.  He could hardly form thoughts.  There was a spaceship crushing the city.  The image lodged in his brain, refusing to process, crashing everything else.  His breath hiccupped.  It couldn’t be real.  It couldn’t be.  But it was, it was, it was, it was and unlike his own death, it couldn’t be undone.

Bones pulled him close, blotting out the sight of everything, and now Jim could only see black, black, black and in that black he forgot how to breathe, forgot he’d survived.  He sank into it and down there, in the nothing, a voice still called out to him.

But it wasn’t Bones.

It was Pike, still daring him to do better.

“Dammit, Jim, answer me!”

He blinked heavily.  He came back to himself and noticed the blue sky above filling his vision, his body flat on the hospital roof.  “Bones?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here.” Bones appeared in his field of vision, pale and frantic.  Jim reached out and Bones grabbed his hand and held it tight.  He laughed horribly.  “I’m always calling you an idiot, and then I bring you up here.”

“I needed to see,” Jim said. His voice cracked.  “I had to know.”

“Yeah, but not yet.  This was a stupid idea.  I shouldn’t have – ”

“There was never going to be a good time, but now I know so no one has to keep dodging the issue.”

_The issue._   What a horrible way to put it.  A fucking starship had annihilated half the city and destroyed lives.  It was a tragedy unlike any other.  Jim trembled, clinging onto Bones like he was his only anchor.

“Just don’t go catatonic on me again without giving me some kind of heads up.”

A watery chuckle escaped Jim.  “Sure.”

He recognised shock when he was in it, the tremors and sickness making him giddy.  But he couldn’t stay on the rooftop.  Bones knew it too, and he helped Jim back to his feet.  Jim leaned heavily on his friend, but a human touch felt infinitely better than the roof or the hoverchair.  They didn’t speak.  Jim couldn’t put his thoughts into words.  There were so many, so fast, he couldn’t find his way through it all to form a cohesive sentence.  He closed his eyes and saw it again, a city hosting a spaceship and draped in more construction material than he’d ever seen.

“We should go back in,” Bones said.  “Can’t have you catching a cold.”

“A cold, Bones? Really?”

Bones helped him to his unreliable feet.  “Yeah, Jim, because that would be just like you to catch a virus no one’s had in decades just because you could.”

“I don’t do these things on purpose,” Jim said as he sat down in the chair again.

“Sure you don’t.”

Something heavy weighted Bones’ voice.  Jim stared at him, waiting for more.

It didn’t come.

“Bones.”

He still didn’t speak.

Jim stared at him.  “I’m gonna be fine.”

“I know you are,” Bones replied softly, turning his back to Jim as he studied the sky.

“Thanks to you,” Jim added.  He reached out and grabbed Bones’ hand.  He felt the tension and heat in the other man’s body.  “Would you look at me?”

Bones shook his head.  “Can’t.” His shoulders trembled. 

Jim tightened his grip.  “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I had to do it and I’m sorry I died and I’m sorry I didn’t get to say that before it happened and…”

“I just keep seeing you in a body bag,” Bones interrupted hurriedly.  “I sleep and I dream and when I dream, you’re still dead.  My best friend, dammit, and there was fuck all I could do.”

“But you did do something.  And I’m here.”

“I know. I know that, dammit, but that doesn’t mean…” Bones fell silent, reaching up to wipe his face. 

Jim tugged Bones’ arm.  “So would you look at me?”

Bones turned, red-eyed and teary. 

“Look, I’m not gonna sit here and tell you to stop having nightmares, focus on the good shit and pretend the bad shit never happened.” Because that would make him the ultimate hypocrite.  “But if you wanna drown your sorrows, you better give me a shot of bourbon too.”

“Alcohol? In your condition? Jim, you’re –”

“Trying to tell my best friend I’m here, I made it back because of him, and he hasn’t gotta pretend he isn’t upset or pissed with me.”

“Ah, Jim, I’m not pissed.  At least not with you.  God help the next admiral who tries to talk to me though.”

“Don’t do anything reckless, Bones.”

They stared at each other. 

“That was weird,” Jim said.

“Hearing my own advice coming back at me from you of all people?” Bones gave him a look.  “No more fresh air for you today.”

Even though the breeze had taken on a chilly edge, Jim grumbled.  It might have been a little forced (because the city was in _pieces_ and he damn well had to accept he was partly responsible for it), but he couldn’t let Bones drown in misery too.

It seemed to work. “Yeah, yeah, bitch and whine all you want. I’m deaf to it.  And don’t think for a second you’ll be able to charm one of the nurses or other doctors into bringing you up here again.”

“Spoilsport.”

Bones took the chair back to the door.  “Thanks, Jim,” he said as they went back inside.

Jim reached over his shoulder and patted his friend’s hand.  “Anytime.”

But as wonderful as fresh air had felt, Jim felt hollowed out.  So many lives lost.  So much damage. He knew he risked wallowing in misery if he continued dwelling on it, but how could he not? He was back from the dead, but thousands of others never would be.

The migraine returned that night with a vengeance.  Bones blamed himself, and Jim’s attempts to soothe his best friend's worries were hampered by the sudden rush of vomit spattering down Bones' white uniform.

“Sorry, Bones,” Jim gasped as he was guided back into bed, clad in fresh scrubs.

“It’s nothing. If a bit of vomit freaked me out, I wouldn’t be much of a doctor.” Bones delivered a hypo to the neck and tucked Jim into bed.  “Sleep.  You’ll feel better in the morning.”

When the combination of drugs, sickness and exhaustion finally knocked him out, Jim didn't find respite in sleep either.  Dreams of dying and dreams of the city plagued him through the night.  He couldn’t wake up enough to properly shift his thoughts onto something else. 

But when he did awaken to a new day, thick fog pressing against the room’s windows, his head light with exhaustion but heavy with thoughts, he still didn’t find any relief.

“Good morning, Captain Kirk.”

The admirals had arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. See you next week for more!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the admirals looming and the reality of life beyond the hospital encroaching on his recovery, Jim's struggling to cope, even if he won't tell anyone.

Nogura and Komack stood at the end of the bed, gazing down at him with calculating expressions.  Maybe if Jim’s mind hadn’t been so foggy, he could’ve worked out exactly what they were thinking. Instead, he suspected he was in trouble.

"We've heard you've been making excellent progress," Komack said.  “That’s good to hear.”

"Um, thanks." Off guard and definitely not ready for whatever these two had in store, Jim struggled to sit upright, the migraine's ghost still haunting his battered head. "Where's - "

"Doctors Boyce and McCoy will be here in due time I'm sure," Nogura said. "We don't want to keep you long, we know recovering from radiation poisoning isn't easy -"

Doubting they had any idea whatsoever, Jim made a mental note to ask Bones what exactly his medical records stated about his "death".

" - but we've waited for weeks to speak with you and it cannot wait any longer."

"Right." Jim's mouth went suddenly and horribly dry. He swallowed hard several times. "How can I help?"

"Tell us about John Harrison," Komack ordered.

"Khan," Jim replied.

Komack accepted it with a nod.

Jim gave as concise a history of the man as he could manage.  The headache rumbled.

"Is it your belief he and Admiral Marcus intended to bring about war between the Federation and the Klingons?"

"Marcus did, sir. But that wasn't enough for Khan.  He would’ve killed anyone to get what he wanted.  Marcus probably didn't understand the man he'd unleashed. Khan helped him for his own needs, nothing more."

"Do you think Khan brainwashed Marcus?" Nogura asked.

Jim laughed bitterly. "Not a chance. Marcus knew what he was doing, he was just too blind to see who was really in charge." He stared at Nogura unblinkingly. "Don't paint Marcus as a naïve do-gooder who got in over his head. He nearly murdered my entire crew. He was willing to kill anyone standing between him and his war. That man only cared about one thing: power."

He fell back against the pillows, exhausted by the torrent of words. The admirals glanced at each other. Jim hoped maybe they'd had enough for one day.

No chance.

"Why didn't you follow orders to fire on the Klingon homeworld?" Komack asked.

Jim stared at him. "I came to my senses."

Unaffected by Jim’s glare, Komack simply nodded. "And what of the damage to the _Enterprise_?"

Anger uncoiled in Jim's belly. "Before or after a Starfleet Admiral fired on us?"

Komack had the decency to look embarrassed. "Before. The issue with your warp core."

"Sabotage."

"Not the gross incompetence of your new Chief of Engineering?" Nogura wasn't even slightly apologetic.

"Ensign Chekov performed admirably and way beyond expectations. He's part of the reason any of us are having this conversation. He deserves a promotion. If it's a fall guy you're looking for, you better damn well forget it.  He’s a hero.  Every single member of my crew is."

Nogura's expression revealed nothing. "Who do you suspect of sabotage?"

"I don't know, I haven't exactly had a chance to work it out," Jim spat out. The headache stepped up a notch, the edges of his vision fizzling to static. He really didn't want to end this by throwing up over an admiral. "Next question."

It went on and on, questions fired, answers spoken, whispered and shouted until the migraine won.

Jim just about avoided Komack's shiny boots.

It was Boyce who entered and Boyce who chased the admirals out with the efficiency of a sheepdog.

"The day I meet an admiral who respects medical advice will be the same day candy falls from the sky," Boyce said as he dosed Jim with a hefty painkiller. "Sorry you had to deal with them. They played dirty, keeping my staff distracted so they could sneak in here."

Jim wanted to run and hide, but neither were practical options. With his eyes shut, he could daydream escape to his heart's content, but reality proved to be a painful and constant reminder.  His thoughts, set off by the tireless round of questioning, continued their endless babbling. 

"Get some sleep," Boyce advised.

Jim didn't want to; he knew what was waiting for him.  But the drugs made it inevitable. Drowsiness took hold, tugging him down. Boyce closed the blinds and shut down all non-essential sources of light.  Moments later, Jim was asleep.

Sensing his weakness, the nightmares swarmed. Jim saw San Francisco crushed beneath the _Vengeance_ , Pike's empty eyes staring at nothing, Khan lording it over anyone alive to hear it... He heard the shouts and screams of his crew and felt the weight of their fear settle upon him when they’d all stared death in the face.  And all he’d had to offer them, all he could say, was _sorry.  Sorry I can’t stop Marcus.  Sorry I can’t save you.  Sorry, sorry, sorry…_

And instead of Scotty saving them, it ended with a bombardment that threw Jim out of sleep.  It was overrated anyway. But he awoke to such severe pain it left him shaking and gagging.  He took another hypo to the neck, but before he could work out who was drugging him, he fell headfirst into the nightmares all over again.

Until he awoke with barely a whisper of discomfort in his head and saw Spock at his bedside.

"Doctor McCoy asked if I would keep you company this evening," Spock said quietly instead of a simple hello. "He also sends his apologies regarding the admirals and wishes to assure you he is dealing with their ill-timed visit."

Jim's dozy mind took a few seconds to process everything. "On a scale of one to ten, exactly how mad is he?"

"In this instance, I believe Doctor McCoy's emotional status exceeds all reckoning."

Laughter cleared Jim’s lingering haze. "I would not want to be an admiral right now."

"I expect they are regretting their decision to interrogate you this morning," Spock said.  “I doubt they will do so again until you are ready.”

Jim laughed a little more before sobering. "So, what are we going to do?"

Spock produced a PADD from behind his back. "I would like to aid you in the writing of letters of condolence to the families of crew who did not survive our encounters with Marcus and Khan.  While they have all been made aware of their losses, I understand you may feel the need to add your own words."

Sitting straighter, Jim nodded. "Let's do it."

It took hours, but Spock was a patient and receptive scribe. Jim wanted the letters to be personalised, not just the normal 'gave their life in the line of duty' stuff. Between them, they managed stories and unique details for every lost crewmember.

Evening mealtime arrived shortly after they finished. Jim stared at his watery soup and crackers without much appetite.  He felt too full with death and misery.

"You must eat," Spock said. "If you do not, you will compromise your body's ability to recover."

"Sorry," Jim said, picking up his spoon. "I don’t have much of an appetite today." He tapped a beat against the side of the bowl.  “Maybe I’m being overly emotional.”

Spock frowned and Jim belatedly remembered how he was supposed to be nothing but grateful for being alive. Without another word he ate his soup.

"Perhaps you would care for a game of chess," Spock said once he had finished his own meal.

Jim tried to peek behind Spock. "You're not hiding a chessboard too are you?"

The eyebrow twitched. "Or perhaps you require further rest."

"Commander, bring me a damn chessboard or I will leap out of this bed, jump over you on my way out, find something to do and damn the consequences!"

Spock's eyebrow rose.

Jim licked his lips. "Okay, that was awkward."

"Extremely."

Sighing noisily, Jim waved a hand.  "Get a chessboard, Spock. I'll wait here."

Spock returned within a minute.

"Did you beam it here?" Jim asked.

"I left one in Doctor Boyce's office as I knew you would require recreational activities as soon as your recovery allowed it."

“Ah, thanks. That’s really thoughtful of you.”

“Also, Doctor McCoy is very insistent about not giving you access to a PADD and I am inclined to agree with him.”

“Does he know that? About you agreeing with him, I mean.”

“Indeed, and he once again expressed his discomfort.”

Jim chuckled. Spock and Bones’ caustic relationship frequently frustrated him, but just as frequently amused him.

Spock set the board on Jim's table, carefully moving it into Jim's reach without knocking the pieces over. They played quietly, Spock's inability for small talk a welcome relief. Jim found the game soothing, his mind focusing easily on the various strategies he could deploy.

Uhura arrived to break it up sometime around Jim's third consecutive loss. Jim grumbled, but the headache had crept around the edges of his concentration, niggling away in his brain.

"How are you?" she asked, placing a small brown paper bag on the table. "You're looking better today."

Really? "Thanks, I'm feeling better.” Physically, maybe.  His emotional wellbeing had taken a battering.  “I haven't slept for a while. That's a major achievement." He eyed the bag. "Anything for me?"

She nodded. "I talked to Leonard and he thought you'd be okay with noodles. They're plain, but they've got to be better than that soup you've had."

Despite the total absence of hunger, Jim picked at them on and off during the evening and into the night, not wanting to upset Uhura or incur the wrath of Bones.  Spock and Uhura’s quiet presences lulled him into a waking doze, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the messes he’d made.  He wanted to be better so he could get out there and make things right again… or as right as anything could be.  But beyond trips to the bathroom, he was trapped by his own weaknesses and too damn tired to be really, truly angry about it. 

Spock and Uhura said their farewells when they noticed Jim steadily succumbing to sleep.  They slipped out of the room and the sudden absence of company left Jim feeling marooned.  Even if his life depended on it, he didn’t have the strength to run after them and beg them to stay.

And he couldn’t.  He just couldn’t.  They couldn’t know how he felt.  He had to be strong, he had to appear happy.  He couldn’t be more of a burden than he already was.

After yet another night of fractured sleep, Jim awoke to Bones strolling into his room and announcing he’d be having his first physiotherapy session that afternoon.

“Can’t have you sitting here brooding any longer. I can practically see the storm cloud’s gathering ‘round your head, Jim.”

Jim knew better than to deny it.  “Thanks, Bones.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he replied ominously.

When the time came, Nurse Xian collected him.  The PT room, large enough for more than one patient at a time, had a padded floor, a variety of equipment and small screens to monitor bio-readings.  Nurse Xian wheeled him in, patted him on the arm like he was about to receive devastating news, and beat a hasty retreat.

“Well, look what the goddamn garbage scows dragged in.”

Jim’s physical therapy instructor was not some friendly, cheery, encouraging person with a propensity for enthusiasm.  Oh no.  Jim’s therapist, Oscar, was a giant of a man surely made of pure muscle, seven-foot tall and capable of picking Jim up and placing him back on his feet every time his legs dared to give out on him.  He barked his orders, accepted no half-measures and woe betide Jim if he uttered so much as a syllable of a complaint.

“You think I’m interested in _I’m tired_ or _I can’t get up_ , Kirk?” The high-pitched voice Oscar used to imitate Jim grated on just about every nerve he possessed.  “You think Starfleet wants a pathetic kid like you in its ranks? No, sir! Get on your feet and prove you deserve your place here! Prove to me it wasn’t just your daddy’s name and a whole lotta ass-kissing that got you your ship!”

It was enough for Jim to haul himself upright again and take another six steps. Unfortunately, his knees gave out on the final step and he found himself reacquainted with the floor mats yet again.

“You think this is good enough, Kirk? You better get your ass off the ground now or so help me I’ll pound you into it!”

Every time Jim fell over or spent too long taking a break, Oscar was there to yell at him until he got back to his feet.  Jim knew the tactics well enough – shout them down, make them pissed as all hell, make them fight back.  He thought maybe they wouldn’t have an effect on him…

…Until he hurled a weight across the room and watched it leave an impressive dent in the bland wall.

Oscar didn’t seem to care about the damage.  In fact, he seemed proud.  But not of Jim. No, he was proud of his ability to inspire such reactions.

“Looks like I found that backbone you’re so famous for.”

Jim fell onto the nearest stool, rotating his very, very strained shoulder.  Ow. That was going to hurt in the morning.

Oscar stared at him.  “Did I say you could sit down?”

Back on his feet again, Jim took another plodding lap of the walking apparatus.  He wasn’t sure what got the better workout – his leg muscles from the walking or his arms from holding the rest of him up when his legs gave up.

When the session ended and Oscar saw him safely back to his room, Jim flopped into bed with a long sigh of relief.  _Everything_ hurt.  He didn’t care how sweaty he felt.  He. Did. Not. Want. To. Move.

Except Bones had other ideas and dragged him (well, pushed him in a hoverchair) into the shower room and left him to soak for a while.

A long while.  The warm water was so relaxing, Jim dozed off.  He woke up when Bones shut off the water and threw a towel at his head.  Jim dried himself, accepted help when getting dressed and tried his damnedest not to blush when his heavy head landed on Bones’ shoulder.

“Back to bed for you,” Bones said, ruffling Jim’s damp hair.

Jim happily agreed and slept half the afternoon away.

PT sessions left him in a similar state all week, and even with Oscar’s shouts ringing in his ears, the migraines subsided into more manageable headaches.  His appetite wasn’t so keen, and the amount he could eat remained pitiful. Daily visits from the crew or his mom involved food deliveries and he did his best to eat what they brought.  The hope and happiness in their eyes stopped him from saying no.

When he wasn’t in PT or sleeping it off, Jim escaped his room as frequently as he could, accompanying his friends to various other areas of the hospital, especially the gardens.  Fresh air, warm or cold, rejuvenated him without fail.  He enjoyed walks in the rain too, and not just because Bones or his Mom chased after him with a large umbrella.  He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed the cold bite of rain on his skin in his time away from Earth. 

Altogether, the week passed in a draining blur and although his endurance was still crap compared to what he considered normal, Jim slept so soundly thanks to exhaustion the nightmares didn’t disrupt his sleep. 

The admirals didn’t return either.  He knew he hadn’t escaped them forever, but after a week of continued absence, Jim dared to hope they’d give him time to really get himself back together.

“It’s looking good,” Bones said when Jim returned from his eighth session with Oscar.  “I think you’ll be good to head home tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Jim hauled himself back into bed.  Everything _hurt_.  Oscar had thrown some new exercises into the routine and extended the session by an hour.  Jim needed sleep.  He definitely needed a shower… but mostly he needed to not be awake.  He slumped onto his stomach, groaning as he upset the muscles he’d strained.  He tried to find enough energy to sound surprised and happy.  “Really?” He only managed disbelief.

“Yeah, Jim, tomorrow.  But just remember heading home does not translate into going back to work.  You’re on medical leave until…”

“Until I can walk across a room without it being an achievement worthy of Oscar not insulting my manhood?”

Bones relented with a heavy sigh.  “You’ll get there.  You’ve come a long way already.  There’s no – ”

“Rushing it, I know, I know.” He didn’t want to sound impatient or frustrated or anything that might in anyway selfishly suggest he wasn’t anything but grateful to be alive…

…But holy shit, PT was an exhausting slog and the only thing keeping him going, other than Oscar’s seemingly endless stream of insults, was his own pride.  He hated the disconnect between what he knew he could do and what he could only manage now.  Last month he’d run across an alien landscape. Today, moving at anything other than a snail’s shuffle was as impossible for him as taking off and flying through the sky.  And no amount of shouting from Oscar could make his body go a step further than it was currently capable.  He tried.  He tried so, so, so damn hard, but he couldn’t.

“Jim?”

“Huh?” He made a pathetic attempt to lift his head off his pillow.

“Tomorrow.”

“Sure, great, tomorrow.”

Jim didn’t wake up again until the new day dawned.  It was his Mom who came in with a big smile and a bag.  “You’re free,” she announced happily.

Had he missed the first half of the conversation? “Free?”

“To leave.” She frowned at him.  “I know Leonard said you were a bit out of it last night, but didn’t you hear a word he said?”

“Uh, yeah…? Maybe?” He glanced at the bag.  “What’s that?”

“Real clothes,” she said.  “Everything’s finalised.  You’ve been cleared to leave. All we have to do now is walk to my car and I’ll take you home.”

Jim stared at the door.  “Bones isn’t here to lecture me about… something?”

“Nah, I think he trusts me to do it.” A knowing smirk tilted her lips. 

“I can really leave? Shouldn’t it be harder?”

“Harder how?”

“I’m supposed to fight with Bones. And Spock’s meant to be here doing his eyebrow thing.”

Winona laughed. “You’re fine, don’t worry.  I’m not breaking you out.”

Jim unzipped the bag and found underwear, sneakers, a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt.  “Where’d you get these?”

“The house.”

“In Iowa?”

“Yeah.  You left pretty much everything behind and I haven’t been to your apartment in the city.  I figured you might not want me poking around.”

“It’s not that bad,” Jim said as he kicked off the blankets.  “Might be a little messy.” He hadn’t been back since… since…

Since the day they’d shipped out. The day after Pike had died.

And the apartment wasn’t messy at all.  He’d tidied, hadn’t he? After being ordered to go home by various superiors, he’d left Spock, stumbled back to his apartment and, unable to sleep, unable to think clearly, he’d put everything back where it went, scrubbed the bathroom and the kitchen until they’d sparkled worthy of an advertising campaign, tossed the trash and made his bed.  When it was done, he found himself standing in the sunlight of a new day.  With nothing to do, nothing he could do, he’d drifted off into thought.

And then his communicator beeped and after that conversation with Spock, Jim had taken the first step on the path to where he was today.

“Maybe I wanted you to give me an official tour,” Winona said breezily.

“Okay,” Jim said, planting his feet on the ground.  “One official tour coming up.” He glanced at Winona.  “Ah, Mom, could you…?”

She turned her back.  “Better make it quick though. I’ve gotta get back to Riverside by 1300.  We’re at a critical stage in the hull repairs.  Scotty needs all the help he can get.”

Jim shrugged out of the scrubs and into the t-shirt.  The smell of the farmhouse rushed over him and suddenly all he could think of was open fields and big skies and corn and hot summers and bitter winters.  He cleared his throat to cover the sudden rush of emotion.  “How’re the repairs going?”

“Better than expected.  Won’t be long before we can start the upgrades, and after that it’ll be back to spacedock.  Soon as you can, you’ll be back up there too, Jim.”

If the Admirals let him.  If his own body let him.  If… “I know.” He pulled the sweatpants on and carefully walked to Winona’s side.  “Let’s get out of here.”

With Winona’s arm supporting him, they left his room and went past the nurses’ station.  Jim said his thanks and promised to behave.  Nurse Xian wore a particularly devious grin and if Jim held on a little tighter to his mom’s arm, she didn’t comment.

The car waited for them in the hospital’s basement right outside the elevator.  “We need to hurry,” Winona said as she held the passenger door open and helped Jim slide in. 

“Why?”

She didn’t answer until she’d closed his door, walked around the car and climbed into the driver’s seat.  “We’ve kept it as quiet as we can, that’s why I’m taking you home and not one of your crew, but there’s a chance the media found out you’re leaving today.”

“Great,” Jim sighed.

“It’s not likely.  Barely anyone knows, but you know what it’s like. A nurse or a doctor says the wrong thing to the wrong person and boom, the whole secret’s out.”

Jim knew that only too well.  He’d spent large chunks of his life dodging the media’s attention.  The fifth, tenth, fifteenth and, of course, twenty-fifth anniversaries of his father’s sacrifice brought them out of the woodwork without fail. 

“They don’t know where I live, do they?” He’d planted so many false addresses in the system just to back up Starfleet’s (and his own) encryptions it would take someone exceptionally talented to dig him or any of his crewmembers out of the city’s numerous residential areas.  But only a fool would grow complacent. 

“Not a chance,” Winona said.  “If they are out there, they won’t be following us either.” She tapped a button, activated the car’s engine and tinted the windows. 

“Why not?”

She stared at him.  “Have a little faith in your mom, Jim.”

He smirked right back at her.  “Please, impress me.”

The silent car slid out of the parking lot and out to the sunlit streets.  Jim stared out the window, watching people and other cars go by.  They swung by a few media trucks, but none of them suddenly raced after them.  He had no idea why the media would choose to focus on him after the devastation San Francisco had suffered.  His life meant little in comparison, especially to the ever-hungry media with their hours upon hours of coverage to fill.  It’s not like his death and resurrection were public or even Starfleet knowledge.  The official story was Jim had gone into the core and escaped in time for Bones to freeze him and create a viable treatment.  That was the story everyone had to stick to.  In truth, the serum had worked its miracle and the details of its creation were very, very securely stored.  Section Thirty-One, if they were still out there, didn’t have a chance of finding it. 

“I picked up a few groceries before I came,” Winona said, taking a turn and joining a busier traffic lane.  “Leonard gave me a list of things that shouldn’t upset your stomach too much.  He even made sure none of them could cause an allergic reaction.”

“I owe him a drink.” Enough drink to fill a bar.  Maybe Jim needed to start making lists, the first one being _Shit I Need To Do For Everyone For Not Leaving Me Dead._

“I’m sure you’ll get a chance.  I’ve got some Romulan Ale you can give him.”

“Mom!” Jim cried, scandalised. 

“What?” She laughed brightly.  “Jim, please, I’ve been smuggling liquor since before you were born.  Hell, part of the reason your father and I met was because I knew how to get my hands on the best booze outside of the Federation.”

He shook his head.  “You think you know someone…”

“Oh, hush!”

Starfleet Headquarters seemed unchanged as they drove around the campus, but Winona kept them far away from the wreckage of the _Vengeance_. She took an epic diversion, circling the city and taking more turns than Jim could keep track of.  The journey dragged on as Winona took the most convoluted journey to his apartment.  His eyes blurred as the lids fell like stones, too heavy to stay open.

“Jim?”

He jerked awake, his knees cracking the dashboard.  He winced, rubbing them.  Beyond the car, the parking lot of his apartment block loomed around him.  How long had he been out?

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Winona said.  She reached out, her hand stroking his hair.  “I used to drive you up and down Riverside to get you to sleep as a baby. Sometimes it was the only thing that worked.”

“Still works,” Jim said around a yawn.  It worked too well.  If he closed his eyes, he’d be gone again. Instead he opened the car door and climbed out.  “I’m gonna head upstairs, okay?”

“Yeah, of course. Go.  See you in a minute.”

Jim shuffled into the elevator. It swept him up to his floor.  The sight of the door gave him such a sudden rush of emotion he staggered.  Relief to be out of the hospital, joy to be home, homesickness for the _Enterprise_ , sadness for this, happiness for that… Forcing his legs to cooperate, he went to the door, tapped in his access code and moved inside. 

He didn’t tend to think of the apartment as _home_.  It seemed oddly like a dorm room, a temporary roof over his head, albeit a really nice place with an amazing view… an amazing view now tarnished by the _Vengeance._

The damage was so much easier to see from here.  Hands pressed to the glass, he took in the sight yet again, trying to commit every detail to memory.

Why hadn’t he done more to stop Khan? He should’ve known better, should’ve chosen a better option…

When Winona arrived, Jim still sat at the window, unable to look at anything else. She pulled gently on his shoulders.  “Come on, come away.” 

He shook his head.  “I can’t.”

Gentle hands brushed his arms.  “The city will recover. Starfleet too.” 

“But the dead won’t.”

“No.”

Except him.

“But if there’s one thing you and I know, it’s about moving on.  You have to live, Jim.  I tried to make the universe stop after your Dad died, but I couldn’t.  Running away didn’t help either.  You just have to pick yourself up, accept that it hurts every fucking day, and live.”

He stared at her.  She’d never spoken like this before.  He floundered, trying to find something to say.  “It’s okay, Mom.”

“I made a lot of mistakes.  We both know I did – ”

“Yeah, but – ”

“And I know you’re hurting right now, even if you don’t want anyone to know.  And it’s all right to be sad and angry and confused about everything, it really is.” 

“How can I be?” he asked.  “How can I tell them how I feel when they’re the reason I’m here at all?” Jim shook his head. “I can’t do that.  They’re all so happy. I’m not taking that away from them again.” He threw his hands up.  “Listen to me, acting like I’m the centre of the fucking universe.  Look at what happened out there when I tried doing this shit my way.  I can’t be selfish like that.”

“Selfish, you? Your crew, your family, know you better than that.”

He couldn’t respond.

Winona’s hand rested against his cheek, turning his face so he met her gaze.  “I need you to try and do one thing.”

“Mom…”

“One thing, Jim.” Her grip tightened fiercely.  “Don’t you ever let me hear you blaming yourself for what happened out there.  Never.”

“But – ”

“No.  I’m not interested in maybes or ifs.  No one is and do you know why? They’re all still breathing because you made sure your ship didn’t fail them.”

“What about the city?”

“Jim, one way or another, Marcus and Khan would have had their fight and you know what terrifies me? What if you and your crew hadn’t been there to stop them when you did? Imagine that instead.  We’d be at war with the Klingons and with Khan and his crew.  If you need to terrorise yourself, think of it like that.”

“Is that how you see it with Dad?” It came out harsher than he meant it to, but he couldn’t take it back.

“In a way.” Tears washed over Winona’s eyes.  “I see Sam, waiting at home with his grandparents, expecting his Mommy and his Daddy and his baby brother to come home, but instead the people from Starfleet arrive with their sad faces and they tell him we died. We all died. And he’s – ”

He stopped her with a rough embrace.  “Okay, Mom.  Okay.  I’ll try.”

“That’s all I want,” she murmured.  She took a deep breath.  “You’re gonna be okay, Jim.”

“Yeah.” He glanced at the view once again, his gaze caught by the devastation.  “I know.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading. I'm about to work a 60 hour week (yes, the sound you hear is me sobbing), but I should be able to post the next chapter next weekend. Have a great week and I'll see you all on the other side!


	5. Chapter 5

Although he had to return to the hospital in the afternoon for his session with Oscar, Jim felt more relaxed than he had in weeks. With fresh air gently gusting through the open windows, he finally had some time to himself with zero chance of anyone walking in when he least wanted company. A few days alone (with the exception of Oscar… and probably Bones, who was he kidding) sounded wonderful.

The first evening passed slowly but pleasantly.  Mom checked in from Iowa and Bones commed him to remind him to take this medication, ever the mother-hen, but he didn’t stop by and neither did anyone else.  Jim spent most of his time going through his inbox on his PADD.  He found a message from Pike’s attorney, asking him to stop by at his convenience.  Swallowing tears, Jim held it together until he started digging out all the memorial service messages.  So many.  He’d missed the majority, but it seemed a big one approached for the city, as well as a few private ones for lost crewmembers.

And one for Pike.  The message inviting Jim came from Pike’s sister, a woman called Rebecca, who Jim had only met once.  The service, to be held in Mojave, would take place in two days.  He sent her a quick message to apologise for his delayed response and promised to be there.

He looked up and discovered night had fallen, his apartment clothed in darkness.  Without warning, he burst into tears. He cried in a way he hadn’t since childhood, loud and messily and completely uncontrollably. His PADD fell from his hand, clattering on the ground, but he left it there.  He curled into a ball and sobbed until he was too exhausted to continue.

Sleep didn’t come easily that night.  Jim tossed and turned, his body never comfortable for long.  He felt too tired to get up but not tired enough to sleep.  Or perhaps he had simply gone beyond exhaustion into that bizarre state of mind when, despite the exhaustion, sleep would surely be impossible forever. Dawn found him weary and miserable. The hope of yesterday hadn’t stuck around.  Too many memorials to attend, too much destruction to clean up…

As though he possessed a Jim Is Brewing radar, Oscar picked him up first thing that morning. He waited long enough for Jim to eat a piece of toast before hustling him out of the door.  Jim expected to be ordered to take the stairs all the way down.

“No way you’re ready for that kind of exertion,” Oscar said as they stepped into the elevator.  “The idea is to make you ready for duty, not have you trip and break every bone in your body.”

Jim stared at him.  “Oscar, are you being nice to me?”

“I’m looking out for your well-being,” he said.  “But seeing as you’ve mistaken me doing my job for me giving a shit, I’d better knock that thought right back out of your head.”

Jim’s legs were jelly by the time he returned home.  Half an hour walking on a treadmill set to an increasing incline, plus various weight-lifting exercises left him physically exhausted, and the lack of sleep hadn’t helped matters.  Had Bones ordered Oscar to work Jim to the point of collapse so even at his most distraught, his thoughts couldn’t keep him from sleep?

It wasn’t working.

It didn’t stop Oscar from making him work twice as hard. "I've taken shits stronger than you!" was one of the insult highlights.  Jim spent several reps trying to work out what exactly Oscar was insinuating.

Barely two hours after Oscar returned him to his apartment, Jim's doorchime sounded. The temptation to ignore it was strong. Other than his general exhaustion weighing him down, Jim’s insides itched madly, a thousand feathers twitching in his flesh and bones, so close and yet completely out of reach.  A shower didn’t ease it and neither did his regular rounds of medication.  Bones had constantly reminded him of complications arising and dealing with them as and when, but Jim didn’t want to call him yet.  He didn’t want to risk his freedom.

The door chimed again.  No, forget it.  A nap was in his best interests. Jim settled himself on the sofa and closed his eyes.

The chime rang again, more insistently this time.

And then the knocking started; a rapid tattoo he couldn’t ignore.

Growling under his breath, Jim got himself to his feet and staggered to the door. He had no idea who to expect, and when he saw who it was, his stomach sank.

The Andorian woman looked young enough to still be a first year cadet, but she wore officer's grey and saluted him sharply. "Captain Kirk, I'm here to escort you to HQ." She held out a PADD bearing the orders and as he read over it, she glanced at his sweatpants and old t-shirt. "I'll inform them there will be a slight delay while you make yourself presentable."

Her tone left no room for argument. Jim showed her in and left her standing beside the couch while he walked, very slowly, into his bedroom. He closed the door and pressed his back to it, wishing the trembles in his limbs and the itch crawling beneath his skin would abate.

Freedom from hospital suddenly lost all its appeal.

Jim shed his comfy sweats and struggled into his dress uniform. It fit worse than before, hanging off his frame. Worse though was the exhaustion clinging to him as he forced his stiff, aching legs to take him back to the lounge where the woman waited for him, impatience visible in every twitch of her antennae.

"We're running very late," she said.

He spared enough energy to glare at her then held out his arm to indicate she should go first. He followed her out of his apartment, out of the building and into an awaiting car. The whole time he struggled to hide his fatigue. His body wanted to sag with it and slump against the car's sumptuous interior. If only he'd had a chance to catch up on sleep and recover what he'd spent during PT that morning. Why did every session still leave him so wrung out? He could hear Bones and Boyce in his head telling him not to expect too much of himself yet.  Yes he was better, but better didn't equal fit. He swallowed his mounting frustration and sat straighter in the seat. He resisted the urge to doze with every fibre of his being. He knew he'd pay for it later, but the admirals weren't the only ones who wanted this over and done with.

He just had to get through it without passing out or losing control of his emotions, two things he couldn't guarantee.

This wasn't going to be pretty.

The meeting took place in a tiny building hidden at the back of the Academy's ground. If he recalled rightly, it was normally used to house diplomatic guests. Today, a large dining room held admirals, not dignitaries.

Without Pike there, Jim didn't see any friendly faces.  He hadn’t realised how much he appreciated the older man’s presence.  He rubbed his chest. 

The admirals sat on one side of the dining table.  A single chair waited for him on the other side, along with a glass of water.

"At ease, Captain," Komack said. "Take a seat."

Jim sat down stiffly, biting back a sigh of relief. He was so glad they didn't want to do this standing. He'd never make it through on his feet.

"This will be a full debriefing, Captain," Komack continued. "I trust you are up to it."

Jim suspected even if he said no, which was probably the medical truth, the debriefing would go ahead regardless. "Yes, sir."

The questions, much like Spock had said, were frequently reworded repeats of each other.  If they suspected him of lying, they obviously thought they could catch him out by asking each other’s questions in a perfectly rehearsed exchange.

They didn't spare his feelings either. They covered Pike's death, the incursion on Qu’noS, Marcus' betrayal and attempted murder of everyone aboard the _Enterprise_ and, of course, they wanted to know every single detail he could offer regarding Khan and his 'torpedoes'.

And then they moved on to what had led him to enter the warp core and suffer 'near fatal' levels of radiation.

Jim made a mental note to ask Bones about the exact details of that cover up.

Talking about it triggered dark memories. They rushed over him, stealing his concentration, making his words stutter and trip over each other.

Reality faded. He was in the crawlspace again, racing as fast as he could, knowing he didn't have time to waste and begging the ship's gravity to hold on, just a little longer. His heart slammed against his ribs. It hadn't been nearly lethal, it had killed him. Within minutes of entering the chamber his body betrayed him, sickness overcoming him, heat searing him from the inside out, dizziness robbing him of his strength.  The knowledge he alone could save his crew and their ship motivated him, even as he died with every step.

"Why didn't you wear protective gear?" One of the admirals asked. Jim couldn't work out who it was. Their faces had blurred together in a mishmash of colours, present day and past memories clashing in front of his eyes. "Captain Kirk?"

Jim swallowed, trying to ignore the remembered stench of vomit.  He scratched his arm.  He blinked hard, sweat stinging his eyes. The meeting room and the admirals solidified again. Why hadn't he put on a radiation suit? Wasn't it obvious? He dragged his scattered thoughts together. "I didn't have time. We were about to burn up in Earth's atmosphere. And if we hadn't been incinerated, we would've crashed somewhere on Earth too."

The admirals showed less emotion than Spock as Jim's answer was noted down. He refused to believe the implications of the _Enterprise_ crashing too were lost on them.

"The warp core was misaligned?" asked another admiral without raising her eyes from her PADD.  He had no idea who she was.  Maybe newly promoted? Why couldn’t he remember all their names?

"Yes, sir, I kicked it back into place."

That caused a few mutters. Jim blinked to clear his weary eyes and realised it was the head of engineering addressing him. She gazed at him steadily and he thought maybe he knew her, maybe she was a friend of his mother's.

She frowned at him and he tried to regain some dignity. He'd slouched so much in his chair he was less resting on the table and more draped over it.

Shit. He had to keep it together. He dragged himself upright, blushing brightly.  He sipped his water, cursing his hand as it shook. The cool liquid soothed him.  He returned the glass to the table and refocused on the admirals sitting opposite him.

"What do you believe to be the cause of the misalignment?" she asked.

He had no doubts about that. "Me.  It was my order to enter warp to evade Marcus despite being told of the risks due to the earlier coolant leak."

"Which you believe to be an act of sabotage?"

"Yes, sir," he said. "Its timing was too convenient and the damage too specific for it to be anything else."

"Can you prove it?"

"No," he said. "I would expect Admiral Marcus to keep his operatives fully protected."

"You believe the operative could be a member of your crew?"

"No." _Hell_ no. "I suspect someone boarded the _Enterprise_ while we were docked over Earth, committed the sabotage and subsequently disembarked."

"But you don't have any proof," the admiral pointed out again.

Jim stared at her. "Other than the damage to the ship, falling out of warp where we did and then the warp core misaligning, no. I didn't think to look while I was busy keeping the crew alive, sir." His voice had a hard edge, but the hoarseness didn't go unnoticed.  “Give me enough time and I’ll find the bastard that did that to the _Enterprise_.”

"Perhaps we should have an intermission," Komack said.

"No, let's finish it," Jim said.

"You're certain?" Komack looked genuinely concerned.

"Yes sir."

The next question left him wishing he hadn't been so hasty. "Are you suicidal, Captain Kirk?" It was the head of Starfleet Medical, Admiral Radisson, asking.  His old face gazed inquisitively at Jim as though he'd asked about the weather.

"Suicidal?" He couldn't contain his disbelief. He laughed too. "No!"

"Not even after the loss of Admiral Pike? Many of us are aware of the more unique aspects of your relationship with him."

Jim shifted in his seat.  "You think his death drove me to attempt suicide via the warp core?" Now it wasn't funny. "No, Admiral, I am not and was not suicidal." What kind of question was that?

"Did you perhaps wish to emulate your father?"

"You're kidding, right?"

Radisson peered at him. "The similarities are hard to ignore," he said. "The obvious exception being your survival, of course."

Jim's tiredness faded under an onslaught of rage. What was the old bastard getting at? "You think my motivation to do what I did was not for the benefit of the crew but instead to live up to my father’s legacy while conveniently committing suicide?"

Radisson's expression remained neutral. "I'm simply looking at the facts. You've endured many losses in your life and perhaps this was -"

"What, my breaking point?" Jim snapped. "Yeah, I was upset about Admiral Pike and I haven't had a chance to properly mourn him, but I didn't want to die.  And if suicide wasn’t it, you think I went into that core just because I wanted to be my like my father? You think I'd risk irradiating the whole ship and slaughter my own crew just for that?" The admiral finally looked slightly sheepish, but Jim hadn't finished. "I took a calculated risk when doing nothing meant everyone dying and the ship either burning up or crashing. I did it because I couldn't let my crew die. I did it because it’s my duty to put their lives before my own.  They were only there because of my orders and my choices.  I owed them everything I had to give, and that’s why I went into the core."

Khan’s words chose that moment to whisper over his mind.  No, Jim thought, there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for his family.

Radisson wasn't finished yet. "Like your father, you were willing to die for your crew."

Jim’s hands clenched in his lap. "Like any captain. I'm lucky and grateful to be here."

"And Admiral Pike's death in no way influenced your actions?" Komack picked up the questioning.

"I wanted revenge," Jim admitted. "I thought Marcus supported me. I had no idea he intended to use me the way he did."

"Had you not been so emotionally compromised, perhaps you would have," Nogura suggested.

"Thanks to my senior crew, I came to my senses." Without their blatant discomfort, things might have ended very differently. "They're the reason we're not at war with the Klingons, not me."

A thick headache lodged itself in his skull, throbbing and squeezing. A migraine was surely on the way. What else could they possibly ask?

The answer, much to his agonised exasperation, was the same set of questions all over again. By the end, he stuttered his way through every answer, too exhausted to care or even try to hold onto some semblance of normality. Visibly slumping, his exhaustion was on display for all to see.

"I think we're done here," Komack said. "Unless anyone has anything else to ask?"

Silence held.  Jim nearly cried with relief, but he possessed just enough pride to hold himself together.

It was a close call though.

"For now, you are on medical leave for the minimum of one month as per Doctor Boyce's instructions," Komack said. "We will deliver our verdict on today's proceedings as soon as we are ready."

"What are the potential outcomes?" And damn his voice for quavering!

"Not dismissal, if that's your concern."

"No, but -"

"Captain," Komack gently but firmly interrupted. "Don't worry about it. Go home and get some rest. You look ready to pass out at that desk.  So, before we all incur the wrath of Starfleet Medical, you're dismissed."

Jim struggled to his feet. His back refused to straighten fully and he had to hold the dining table to brace himself.

He just had to cross the room and get outside where, hopefully, the unamused Andorian would be waiting to take him home.

First step. He nearly keeled over.  Was this really mere tiredness?

"Do you need some help?" asked Radisson.

"No, sir." He wouldn't collapse. He would not fall over. He would do this on his own.

Each step hurt as he forced weakened limbs to cooperate. He made it to the door and stepped out.

The Andorian wasn't there.

But Sulu was. He had a backpack slung over one shoulder. "Doctor McCoy sent me, told me to bring a change of clothes. We can't go out the front. Seems someone tipped off the media.  It’s insane out there. The doctor found out and now we’re working on a way to get you home without them noticing." Sulu looked concerned. "Do you need to sit down?'

Figuring he must look as pale, sweaty and shaky as he felt, Jim dropped all pretence. "Yes."

Sulu took him into a nearby bedroom. Jim collapsed onto the bed, eyes shut.

"Headache?" Sulu asked softly.

"Yeah," Jim grunted, voice muffled. He didn't want to move. He didn't think he could.

"Doc's got you covered," Sulu says. Jim listened as he shut the blinds, dousing the room in cool shadows. "He's with Spock. They're... plotting."

"Together?"

"Yeah, I know, we're all stunned." Sulu rummaged in his bag for a few moments. "Think you can sit up? I've got some meds for you."

To Jim's horror, his body refused to respond. Sulu, in his quiet way, helped Jim to sit and scoot back until he rested against the headboard. His brain sloshed around, smacking the sides of his skull. Sulu held out the two pills and a bottle of water. Jim knocked them back as fast as he could and waited for them to kick in.

He didn't notice falling into a deep, dark sleep until Sulu shook him awake. "Our ride’s here. We're gonna make a break for it. Think you can change? The crowd out there is about ten deep now, and the admirals stepping out sent them into frenzy."

Once again, pride motivated him. Jim struggled alone, shedding his uniform and yanking on a pair of old jeans and a hooded sweater. None of it fit right, but ditching the uniform brought a rush of relief. He didn't feel much like Captain Kirk right now. He was just plain old weary Jim, sick and hurting, and desperate to hide from the universe until he was ready to take it on again. He shoved the uniform in the backpack and returned to Sulu.

"Put the hood up," Sulu advised before they left the room. "They've got the doors covered. They’re very determined."

Jim raised the hood. It fell perfectly, obscuring his face without blocking his vision. "Roof?"

"Yeah, that's where we're going."

Out of the room, Jim could hear the crowd even if they were outside. Their voices joined together to create a buzz of noise. He glanced down the hallway and saw windows obscured by reporters, their bodies casting strange silhouettes.  He saw them pointing and shouting, cameras and PADDS waving in his direction.  When they caught sight of them, they pounded on the glass like they wanted to break through

“No respect,” Sulu muttered.

They ducked out of sight into a waiting elevator. Jim breathed a sigh of relief as the doors closed. He didn't have it in him to cope with the media right now.  His body pulsed, out of kilter with everything around him.  However they planned to escape, Jim really hoped it wouldn’t take long.  His pitiful endurance had been utterly defeated.

He’d only left hospital yesterday.

Pathetic.

“Nearly there, sir,” Sulu said.

They emerged on the top floor, a penthouse suite usually reserved for the most important guests. Today, Chekov waited with a massive grin on his face.

"The plan is working, yes?"

"So far," Sulu replied.

Jim concentrated on staying upright. The headache might have faded, but light-headedness had taken is place and the itch inside his flesh hadn’t subsided.

He needed to lie down, preferably before Bones saw him.

Chekov tapped away on the PADD. Every window tinted suddenly.  “No one can see us,” he said.  “It is safe to leave now.”

They took a service door to the roof.  There, a small hovercraft awaited them.  Uhura sat in the driver’s seat, Spock beside her.  Bones was out of the back door and sprinting over before Jim realised he was there.

Bones fumed loudly and extensively.  “Damned admirals and their damned stupid ideas.”  Tricorder out, he scanned Jim as they returned to the vehicle.  “How are you still standing?”

“I have no idea,” Jim muttered.  He just about made it into the hovercraft without falling over, although Sulu and Chekov stayed close in case he needed to be caught. 

“You do not look well,” Spock commented as Jim took a seat, his concern audible in an otherwise calm voice.  “We will take you home.”

“And we won’t leave you alone,” Uhura said.  She leaned out the window.  “Are you two going to be all right?”

“Don’t worry about us,” Sulu said, clapping Chekov’s shoulder. “We can handle a few reporters.”

“All their equipment has been disabled,” Chekov said with a broad grin.  “I hacked it.  Now they can only see videos of dancing cats.”

“Nice work,” Bones said.

“Thanks,” Jim said, smiling faintly.  He looked to Uhura.  “Home?”

“Home,” she confirmed.

“I’m not sure about that,” Bones said.  “Jim, your readings aren’t looking good.  You’re having some kind of reaction.  You should be back in hospital –”

“No,” Jim murmured.  “Bones, please.”

Bones wore a grumpy look.  “We’ll see.”

Suddenly overhead a swarm of vehicles appeared, all of them bearing various news agency logos. 

“Go, go!” Sulu said. 

Uhura launched them into the sky.  The vehicles followed.  “Everybody strapped in?” But she didn’t wait for confirmation as she raced forward, zipping back and forth to shake their unwanted pursuers.

“This is disgusting.  How is it not trespassing?” Bones hissed.  “Don’t they have any sense of decency?”

“It is unlikely to be in their job description,” Spock commented.

“We’d better hope the plan works.”

“It will, Doctor.  We covered numerous angles to ensure our getaway.  Doctor Marcus is waiting for us in the decoy vehicle.”

“Getaway,” Bones repeated.  “Spock, I will never get used to you saying that word.”

The journey continued, Uhura swinging them between buildings, in and out of traffic lanes, over the sea and back to land.   The pit of Jim’s stomach swirled, the thick headache lodged between his eyes boiling away. He stared out the window, wanting to see the city, wanting to keep an eye on the bastards still following them, but it all passed in an ever-worsening blur.

“Jim?”

He heard Bones, and the buzz of the tricorder as it scanned him, like his ears were underwater.  He couldn’t find the energy to respond or even hint he’d heard.  He wanted to stab his fingers through his skin and scratch his insides, anything to relieve the itch.

“Come on, Jim, I need you to talk to me.”

“Is everything all right?” That was Uhura.

“I’m not sure.  We need…”

Silence fell.  Jim’s eyes rolled, the lids fell and everything faded. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might be a week or two before the next chapter. Work is a bit intense right now, but I'm as inspired as ever! :D
> 
> Thank you for reading everyone! Have a fantastic day.


	6. Chapter 6

_"Have you got him?"_

_"Yeah, I can manage. Get the hanger bay doors shut."_

_"All right."_

Footsteps faded out.

_"Doctor, if you allow me to help, I can carry him and this will go faster."_

_"All right. I'll push him out, you catch him."_

He couldn't fight as his body moved, someone else pushing and shoving him. He tried fight back, tried to tell them to stop. He just wanted everything to stop for a minute or two, give him a chance to sort it all out in his head.

_"Sorry, Jim. I know you're tired and hurting, but we gotta do this now."  
_

Something warm grabbed his wrists. _"I have him, Doctor."_

The world tipped upside down. Head spinning, stomach churning, Jim let go and plunged into dreamless dark.  From time to time, voices drifted down to him.

_"It's not a relapse, Spock, not quite. It's exhaustion."_

_"You are certain he should not be in hospital?"_

_"No, but the best thing for him is sleep and he's sure getting plenty of that."_

_"You are sedating him?"_

_"No need to."_

Every time Jim hovered close to wakefulness, his mind decided against it and he fell back into darkness. The occasional nightmare found him, but they fizzled and faded, never to be recalled.

_"What about the scratching? He does it in his sleep."_

_"His body's still healing, his muscles are rebuilding and his immune system is still playing catch up. He seems to have a mild virus, probably of non-Earth origin, causing irritation just under the dermal layer, but it's nothing too serious. I'm monitoring him for allergic reactions too."_

_"You do not think the serum cured him of that?"_

_"No. I already did an allergy test."_

_"A pity."_

_"Yeah."_

Jim struggled to open his eyes as the voices faded.

"Captain?"

Head rolling, Jim looked and saw Uhura sitting beside him. She smiled. "Good afternoon," she said. "You've been asleep for a while."

He tried to smile back, but confusion won. He had no idea where he was. "Where am I?" He asked, voice thick with disuse.

"A cabin," she said. "It was Admiral Pike's. It's a long story, but in nutshell, Spock and Leonard decided it might be best to get you out of San Francisco for a while and Admiral Pike’s sister said she knew the perfect place."

Jim's drowsy thoughts took a few minutes to chew on that. "Oscar's not gonna like that."

Uhura laughed. "I think Leonard has a few messages for you from him."

"Yay." The thought of getting up and doing anything physical made him groan. He got as far as rolling onto his side. Already the haze of sleep crept over him, weighing down on his head. "Why'm I so tired?" Wasn't he over this phase of his recovery? He tried to keep his eyes open, but he couldn't.

Uhura's warm hand took his. The other brushed through his hair. "Don't worry about it. Sleep."

Feeling useless, Jim helplessly followed orders. He didn't have a choice.

He dreamt of fire and death, of screaming and falling.  He jerked awake to a darkened room, shaking and gasping.  Someone was there with him.

“S’all good, Jim, just go back to sleep.”

“Bones?”

A warm hand ruffled his hair.  “It was just a nightmare.  Nothing’s gonna hurt you.”

Sleep pulled him back down.  The smell of cooking awoke him later, except this time he was alone and daylight flooded the bedroom. Stomach gurgling, Jim pushed himself upright, waited until he felt strong enough, then got to his feet. He swayed but stayed upright. He plodded out of the bedroom without registering details beyond door, big window, nice bed, and crossed into a large living area. Across the space he saw Scotty in the kitchen. The older man hummed to himself as he worked, cooking up something smelling so good Jim's stomach gave an audible growl.

"Scotty?"

"Good morning, Jim!" Scotty declared cheerfully. He turned around, revealing himself to be wearing a GREATEST SCOT apron, the bottom of which bore a kilt design. "It's good to see you up and about. How are you feeling?"

Honestly? "Ah, confused?" So confused he wasn't certain that summed it up. He needed a few answers. "How'd I get here?"

"Mr Spock commandeered a shuttle and brought you out here." Scotty paused to flip a series of pancakes. "Don't worry if you don't remember anything. Bones said you might not."

He didn't, at all. "When was that?"

"Two days ago."

Jim had to take a seat. "Two days?"

Scotty plated up a few breakfasts. "You haven't missed much. Not a lot goes on out here."

"When did you arrive?"

"Yesterday. You were out. Reckon I coulda waltzed in here playing the old Scott family bagpipes and you wouldnae have stirred. Anyway, I got a few days off."

Jim gave him a knowing look. "Did they threaten to demote you if you didn't leave the _Enterprise_ for a while?"

Scotty looked sheepish. "Your mother is a force to be reckoned with."

Jim laughed. That was certainly one way to describe Winona Kirk.

"Anyway, it's good to see you, Jim. Sorry I haven't been around much."

"You've got way more important things to do. Forget about it."

"But –"

"If you apologise again for what happened, I swear I'll hit you... As soon as I can."

Scotty's tragic expression cracked and he too laughed. "Fine, you win."

"Good." Jim leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He scratched at his skin absently. "Where's everyone else? I thought Uhura was here?"

"Aye, she sat with you a little yesterday. You remember?"

"Yeah..." Had Bones asked Scotty to check Jim's recollection of previous events? "Wasn't that in the afternoon?"

"It was. Like I said, you were out for the count. Anyway, they'll be back soon. They went into town for a few supplies and it's an hour by road."

"An hour? How far out are we?"

"Far enough so civilisation won't find us.'"

Forget civilisation. What about Oscar? He wouldn't be happy to lose Jim. He inspired such creative insults after all.

_"You think falling over like an old man who farted too hard is going to impress me? Boy, don't you glare at me. Those baby blues might charm anyone else who looks your way, but you wanna know what I see? A dumbass who got himself crushed and now he's cowering like the loser he is. Prove you're the man they say you are! Show me you deserve the legend. Don't be so pathetic! Get up!"_

"Jim?"

He stirred. "Sorry, Scotty, what did you say?"

"San Francisco is heaving with those bastard reporters. Spock and the good doctor decided you needed out of the city for a while. A call here, a favour there, and here we are."

"Mmm." Leave the city behind? Jim swallowed a sigh. So much for some time to himself at home. Time he needed to think it all through, work out how to shelve the complex myriad of emotion playing on his mind.

Except the voice telling him maybe he still wasn't well enough to be alone wasn't easily ignored.

Scotty hadn't finished. "Besides, you're on medical leave, right? All the more reason to enjoy time away, right?"

"I'm not in much of a vacationing mood," Jim said.

"Ah, well, I suppose you're not."

Scotty delivered a plate of pancakes just as the main door opened. Spock entered with Uhura and Bones close behind. All three looked happy to see Jim awake. Well, okay, happy wasn't the right word for Spock's expression, perhaps 'less upright' suited him better, but Jim didn't care for the little details right now.

"Morning. Everybody good?" Jim asked before the inevitable barrage of questions.

"Fine, thank you," said Uhura.

Spock nodded. "I am well."

"Good," said Bones. "How're you feeling?"

"Okay," Jim said. "Sorry for -"

"Forget it, Jim. The admirals overtaxed you before you were ready. It was too much."

"But it's over and done with," Jim said. That was definitely a source of relief, even if the lack of an outcome was the total opposite. "Forget it, I'll be fine."

Bones nodded. "Okay, well, welcome to your home for the next week."

"Week?"

"As you are currently unfit for duty and the media has made San Francisco an extremely uncomfortable location for crewmembers of the _Enterprise_ , it is only logical you seek refuge elsewhere," Spock said.

"Can't I do anything to help?" He didn't want to feel useless or like a burden anymore.

"You cannot in any official capacity," Spock said.

"You can't in any physical capacity either," Bones said. "Jim, that meeting with the admirals nearly caused a relapse. As it is you're fighting an infection your brand spanking new immune system isn't so keen on."

"Didn't you give me medicine for that?" Jim asked. "And did you really just say 'brand spanking new'?"

"Nothing's one hundred per cent accurate, especially with you. 'Bout the best I can promise is you won't catch pneumonia if someone sneezes on you."

"Great." Jim picked at his pancakes. They were delicious, melting on the tongue just so, but his appetite wasn't exactly restored. "What can I do?"

"I've got some schematics you can look at," Scotty said, tucking into his own meal with gusto. "Maybe you can't sign them off, but your input is always valuable."

Everyone looked at Bones, whose mouth was too full of pancake to respond. He settled for a shrug.

"Excellent," Scotty said. "I'll bring it all up on the PADD in a wee while."

"So is this gonna be some kind of family camping trip?" Jim asked when he'd stomached as much of the pancakes as he could manage.

"I'm staying," Scotty said, eagerly helping himself to Jim's leftovers.

"I cannot," Spock said. "I have taken an instructor's position at Starfleet Academy until a suitable replacement can be found."

"I'm going to teach a few Xenolinguistic classes too," Uhura said. "Looks like I'll be having a pretty good refresher course in Klingon."

Bones gave Jim a pointed look. "You're not getting rid of me that easy."

"I don't want to get rid of you," Jim said. "But don't you have anything better to do?"

"Like catching up on sleep, reacquainting myself with my own apartment and scaring a few green med students so I can get rid of the useless ones before they have a chance to kill someone?"

Jim blinked. "Um, yeah?"

Bones shoved another forkful of pancake in his mouth. "It can wait."

It wasn't long before Spock and Uhura took their leave. "We'll see you next week," Uhura said.

"Rest well, Jim."

As soon as they left, Scotty grabbed a PADD and gave Jim a section by section overview of the ship's current status. As much as he wanted to know more about this mysterious cabin of Pike's, Jim found himself completely absorbed in the ship's systems, pointing out alternate options, listening attentively to Scotty's suggestions and laughing out loud at some of Starfleet's ideas. Remove a rec room in favour of another tactical station? Not a chance.

By the time Jim looked up, lunchtime had been and gone and Bones snored in the seat opposite. Looking at his friend, noticing new hints of grey amidst the rest of his dark hair, a rush of protectiveness drew Jim to his feet. He grabbed a throw from another chair and gently tucked Bones in.

Scotty made himself busy in the kitchen making sandwiches. Jim decided to poke around. It wasn't a big place, this out-of-the-way cabin of Pike’s. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, a large kitchen-slash-lounge... And then there was the deck outside with a stunning view of the desert landscape. Wide open sky with rocks and sand and scrubby bush as far as the eye could see. His skin prickled in the heat, but he closed his eyes and basked for a moment. He couldn’t deny how good the sun’s warmth felt.  Tiredness dragged on him, whispering at him, telling him to sit down, take another nap… But if he did that out here, he would burn spectacularly and then Bones would have yet another problem to treat.

As he headed inside, Jim heard a knock at the door. Moving as fast as he could, he walked over and opened it. The woman on the other side was Rebecca Pike, Chris Pike's sister. He couldn’t tell (or remember) if she was older or younger, but she possessed the same sharp features and the greyish blue of her eyes held a familiar intelligence. Her grey hair fell neatly around her face in gentle curls. 

A small smile touched her lips.  "Hello, Jim. I hope you don't mind if we come in."

"We?"

Jim looked behind her and saw a suited man locking up a hovercar.

"He's the attorney," Rebecca said. "He has a few things to tell you."

Looking over his shoulder and seeing Bones still out and Scotty making himself scarce, Jim decided maybe the deck would be best. He led them through the cabin and back outside.  Rebecca, clearly more familiar with the place than Jim, tapped the cabin’s wooden panelling and revealed a small display screen. A few taps later and a large canopy rolled out from another hidden door, casting shadows over the deck.  With the threat of a nasty sunburn removed, Jim copied the others and took a seat.  Unlike them, however, he couldn’t stop his fingers from dancing in his lap.

The attorney, stereotypically grey and smartly suited, made short work of telling Jim the cabin now belonged to him.

"What?"

Rebecca smiled and patted his hand. "Chris loved coming here to get away from it all. I think he knew you'd appreciate it."

"But... But you should..."

"It's yours," Rebecca said. She was firm but not unkind. "There are a few photos I'd like, but the rest of the furniture belongs to you too."

"Take whatever you want," Jim said faintly. This was his? He had a cabin now? He wasn’t sure he could wrap his mind around it.

“I also have this for you.” The attorney pulled a small, paper envelope out of a pocket.  Jim saw his name on the front, written in black ink.  “Now I’m afraid comes the boring part.” He pulled out his PADD. “There’s a few forms I’ll need you to sign.”

Jim did so on autopilot. All he could think of was the cabin, Pike’s cabin, now legally his and he didn’t know what to do about that or what he should do and if that was okay or what…

“Okay, well, that’s us all done. Thank you, Captain.  I’ll see myself out, Rebecca, don’t you worry.”

“Thanks, Tom.” Rebecca waited for the attorney, Tom, apparently, to leave before turning back to Jim.  “Are you all right?”

He nodded mutely.

“I know this hasn’t been easy on you, and this must be a big shock, but I promise you Chris did it for the right reasons.  Besides, I’m not much of one for desert air.  Had this place been beachside, you would’ve had a fight on your hands.”

Jim managed a faint smile.

Rebecca stood up.  “I’m going to gather a few things.  The memorial is tomorrow, if you feel up to it.  Don’t push yourself.  Chris wouldn’t want that.”

Another silent nod.  The words only just registered. Shock reigned over his mind. It silenced other, messier emotions, but he recognised a breakdown when he was heading towards one.  The thought of doing it here, with Bones and Scotty in earshot…

Pike… Chris had left him a cabin.

And a letter.  Jim looked down at the envelope as Rebecca left him.  He opened it carefully.  It wasn’t often he received old fashioned mail.  Inside was a single sheaf of paper, glossy and smooth. It wasn’t a letter at all.  It was a photo.  Old-fashioned again, perhaps, but photos had never really gone out of fashion.

It was an image of him and Chris, obviously taken when neither one of them were paying attention.  They both had their backs to the camera, Chris in grey and white, Jim in gold.  Although Chris leaned heavily on his cane, he’d thrown his other arm around Jim’s shoulders.

Jim remembered the moment well.  It was right before he’d shipped out for the first time as Captain of the _Enterprise._   Chris had taken him aside, forgone his usual array of stirring speeches, given Jim a simple hug and said he was proud.

And someone had somehow captured that moment… either that or Chris had accessed Spacedock’s security cameras and taken a screencap.

Jim pulled his knees to his chest, desperately holding onto the happy memory to ward off tears.  But he wasn’t Vulcan, and his emotions weren’t so easily controlled.  Alone in the bright sun, Jim cried.  For the loss of Chris, the loss of so many crewmembers, the damage and death brought down upon San Francisco and London, and his own continuing struggles.  He knew he needed to control himself, he couldn’t have a breakdown, he couldn’t collapse in on himself like this... He couldn’t… he _mustn’t…_

“Jim?”

He gasped, not realising he’d fallen asleep. It was Scotty leaning over him, frowning heavily.  “Sorry, didnae want you to burn in the sun.  I know you’ve got the shade and all, but, well, you’re a fair skinned laddie and…”

“Thanks, Scotty.” Brushing his still-damp face, Jim stood.  He didn’t want to, his body weary and heavy, but he really didn’t need to add heatstroke to his list of woes.

List of woes… when had he become so self-pitying? He looked at the photo still clutched in his hands.  Tears rushed to his eyes but he blinked them back.  He couldn’t lose it, not in front of Scotty.

Jim cleared his throat.  “Is Rebecca still here?” The words choked anyway.

“No. She left a little while ago.  Said she’ll call tomorrow, before the service.”

Stepping into the cool interior, Jim noticed Bones still sleeping and felt a pang of guilt.  Scotty had a pile of sandwiches sitting on the breakfast bar.  Jim wanted to hide away, and he definitely didn’t feel even the slightest hint of hunger, but Scotty had gone to a great deal of effort. Jim forced himself to take a seat and pick up a salad sandwich.  They ate in silence, and when Jim finished forcing half the food down, he kept it down with a glass of water and retreated to his bedroom.  He closed the door, pulled the curtains, placed the photo atop a dresser he hadn’t noticed before and hid himself in the centre of the bed in the shadows of the room.

His room.

Jim slid under the bedsheets and closed his eyes. 

Self-pity wasn’t his usual style, but neither was recovering from death.  Jim didn’t want to wallow, but he didn’t want company either.  If he was going to get through this, he had to do it alone.  If he was going to pick up the pieces of who he was beyond the exhaustion and the nightmares and the pain and the anguish, he needed to find his own way.

Just like he always did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for making you all wait for this chapter. Work completely took over. Hopefully you won't have to wait quite so long for the next one. Thank you for your patience, lovely readers!


	7. Chapter 7

The memorial service was a quiet, understated and thankfully media-free event. It was a testament to Oscar's therapy that Jim made it through on his feet.  He was tired, but it wasn't overwhelming him. It felt good…. although the itching under his skin and in his bones had faded to a more tolerable discomfort thanks only to Bones’ medicine.

To Jim's surprise, Admiral Archer was in attendance. After the main service, they spoke quietly, sharing memories of Chris.  Archer never asked anything about what had happened, regaling Jim with ‘when Chris was your age…’ tales instead. Jim enjoyed picturing Chris as a cocky, bolshie kid just as much as Archer enjoyed Jim’s initial disbelief Chris Pike had ever been anything but the ideal Starfleet officer. As much as Jim had loved and appreciated the older man's wisdom, it was nice to know some things had to be earned.

Archer's dog, still not the one Scotty had accidentally lost, sat quietly at Archer's side. Jim stroked the calm pet, his hand gliding over soft fur. 

"D'Artagnan always did like you," Archer said. "Percy does too. You're a dog person, Jim."

"Percy?" Jim thought for a moment. "Sir Percival of the Round Table?"

Archer nodded.  "Easier to shout than Lancelot or Gwain."

"Not Arthur or Merlin?"

"Nah, everyone goes for those two. Let's give someone else's name a shot."

"This guy's way more mellow than D'Artagnan," Jim said, stroking Percy's velvety ears. "I always thought beagles were part-wild."

"Trust me, he can be. It doesn't take much to get him all riled up."

Jim smiled faintly. "But not today."

Archer's old hand patted his shoulder. "Swing by when you're back in San Francisco. Percy will appreciate the long walk. I'm not as spry as I used to be and I've missed Starfleet's best dog-walker."

"Yes sir."

“You’ll be okay, Jim.”

“I know.”

“And Chris was proud of you. Even when he was pissed off about something, you could see it in his eyes.”

Jim failed to formulate any kind of response to that.  Tears welled in his eyes, but he turned away to hide them.

Archer gave his shoulder another pat.  “You’ll have to give me a tour of that ship of yours before you head back out.  Gotta make sure I approve of her bearing the name _Enterprise._ ”

Summoning all of his self-control, Jim turned back to Archer.  “She will,” he said.  The _Enterprise_ was his home, his job, his life and his death… A shudder worked through him. “She’s a good ship,” he added faintly.

“With a good captain,” Archer said.

Jim managed a weak smile.

When the memorial ended in the early afternoon, Bones arrived to take Jim home. He recognised Jim's need for silence and said nothing. Jim stared out the window, lost in thought as the arid landscape passed by outside. He blinked hard to keep himself awake. He'd lost enough time to sleep lately.

Back at the cabin he shed his suit and dressed in old shorts and a t-shirt that was nearly more holes than shirt. He sat on the bed and stared at a wall, trying not to hear Archer’s words echoing in his mind.  He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes as if he could push the tears back in.  He had to do something.  He couldn’t sit there and cry.  He needed to go through the cabin, work out what he wanted, what he definitely didn't. Rebecca told him not to worry, clear it out however he wanted, it was his now...

When would that not feel wrong? When would he be able to think of Pike and not see dead eyes staring back?

Teeth clenched, eyes burning, Jim forced his attention onto something, anything, else. Right, the cabin. There was work to be done.

The bedroom was a simple affair with its bed, closet, side cabinet and lamp. Maybe it wouldn't be so much about taking stuff out as it would be putting new things in. Maybe a bookshelf...

...When taking over a dead man's cabin didn't feel so completely wrong.

Jim got to his feet.  This wasn’t working. He couldn't do the sitting still and brooding thing, he wouldn't, it would drive him insane. He stepped into the main living space and found Bones and Scotty deep in their PADDs. Both grunted in response to his quiet greeting. Rolling his eyes, Jim grabbed his own device and used it to familiarise himself with the local area.

A message flashed onscreen. It was from Oscar. _Find yourself a good gym and get to work. I'm not starting from scratch again. I've attached an exercise program for you. Complete it and don't make me come and find you. Starfleet might be letting you take a sabbatical, but they neglected to ask for my permission. So help me if you don't keep up with you PT, Kirk, because I will make you pay._

And Jim thought Bones had a flair for drama. He did as ordered and found himself a gym and even an outdoor running course... Not that he'd be running it anytime soon. Still, maybe he'd manage a nice walk...

Just as soon as the damned itching went away.

"You want something for that?" Bones asked without looking up.

"Is it in a hypo?"

Bones fixed him with the stare. "Really, Jim?"

"I'm fine." He ignored a vicious itch in his hair, but the one in his left elbow got the better of him.

Bones hypo'd him anyway and the itching subsided. "Don't suffer unnecessarily. It's not much of a virus, should be done with you in a day or so, but there's no need to put up with it."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Get your orders from Oscar?"

"Y -"

"Oscar as in Oscar the Terrible, the boot camp instructor from Hell?" Scotty gasped. "You poor bastard. I had basic training with him. It was a nightmare. Insulted my heritage."

"He does that," Jim said.

"Called me a borderline alcoholic with an unhealthy connection to exhaust ports, and we all know what he meant, the sick, no good -"

Bones snorted. Jim valiantly attempted to hold it together, only to fail miserably and laugh himself helpless.

"H-Hey, I would never -"

Jim grinned. "You're a fan of ample nacelles, aren't you, Scotty?"

"Good God!" Bones laughed harder. "Don't you dare come to me with awkward burns."

Jim cried with laughter.

Realising he was beaten, Scotty chuckled too. "Aye, alright, you win."

Wiping his eyes, Jim managed to control himself. "Oscar doesn't seem so bad when it's someone else he's messing with."

"I'll remember that next time he insults you," Scotty said.

"He hasn't accused me of having sex with a ship." Jim smiled smugly, failing to mention all of the farmboy insults he’d been on the receiving end of.

Scotty said something too Scottish to be understood and got to his feet. "I need a drink!" was the only part that made sense.

"Make mine a double!" Bones called.  “I’ll drink for me and Jim.”

Jim gave him a look.

"And Jim would like some tea."

"What? Come on, Bones. One drink!" He had, after all, sipped wine at the memorial earlier to toast Chris. He wasn't sure how much of his hysterical giggling was down to the tiny amount of alcohol he'd consumed. "One shot and I'm done, I promise." Days of dealing with shit by drinking himself into oblivion were behind him…

...Except for the time Chris found him at the bar after his demotion. Jim had nearly cried there and then when he’d been offered the position as first officer. 

"No," Bones said. "You're barely eating. It will end in disaster."

A disaster of his own making... "Just this once."

"Surely a shot won't hurt," Scotty called over the clink of glass.

Bones ignored Scotty.  "Jim, your tolerance is non-existent. You've basically reset yourself to the day you were born. Forget how you used to tolerate alcohol. One drink will floor you, especially with all the meds still in your system."

Jim smiled.  "All the more reason to start building it back up."

"This isn't..."

"Scotty, one shot of whatever the hell you're drinking."

"Aye. But only one. It's my good Scotch and I've only the one bottle. Although I'm headin' home tomorrow so I'll pick up another bottle or two."

"Or three," Jim said.

"Don't come crying to me with your hangover," Bones groused as Jim accepted the glass.

"I won't."

Bones gripped his own glass and Scotty returned to his seat with his.

"Wait," Jim said. He held out his drink. "To the people we've lost."

"And those we didn't," Scotty added.

"Cheers," Bones said.

Jim knocked the drink back. It burnt the whole way down.

_The ship shuddered, tossing him against the side of the shaft. He cried out at the impact, acid pouring through him, his internal organs bubbling under the radiation. Burning from the inside out, hot, hotter, never cooling, surely melting, coughing up blood with flecks of gristle in it, but if he didn't get to the core..._

Glass shattered. The cabin reappeared. On his feet and running, Jim made it to the kitchen in time to heave into the sink.

"Sorry, Jim. Maybe I should've watered it down," Scotty called. "Still, you won't have a hangover."

Body trembling, Jim gasped for breath, but another bout overcame him and this time everything else in his stomach came back out.

Bones grabbed him to keep him upright.

"Don't say it," Jim groaned.

He didn’t need to.  Bones had a look for every _Jim’s Done Something Stupid_ scenario, although this one was softened at the edges by genuine concern.

"Bed?" Bones murmured instead.

“Aren’t you supposed to take me out to dinner first?”

“I would if I could trust you to keep it down.”

“Harsh, Bones. Harsh.” Jim’s shaking knees chose that moment to completely give out.

“Bed,” Bones said sharply.

"Yeah." He was too tired and too… too... too _everything_ to argue.

Before they went, Bones poured a glass of water and handed it to Jim. "Sip it."

The cool water soothed the burn, but the images played out again and again. He held his hand to his head. How could he make it stop? Drinking himself into oblivion was clearly not an option.

"Sorry, Jim," Scotty said.

"No, it was my fault." He grimaced. "Still an idiot."

How long could he go on with the ship haunting his dreams? How could he go back to the _Enterprise_ knowing it had, albeit temporarily, been his grave? Why couldn’t he just get over it? He was alive, after all. He should be ecstatically happy, not haunted and quivering in fear.

Bones tugged him out of the kitchen. Retreating from the room, Jim gladly fell into bed.

"Flashback?" Bones asked.

"You were right," Jim said, wrapping his hands around his stomach. "Can't hold my liquor."

"Nice try, kid. Scotty might not have noticed, but I know when someone's catatonic."

"It was nothing." Jim rolled away. "I'm sorry. I should've listened. You were right, as always."

"You don't have to lie to me."

"Bones, _please_."

He relented with a sigh. "Get some rest."

Bones made it as far as the door before Jim scrounged up the courage to speak. "How much longer is this gonna last?"

“I…” Bones hesitated.

Jim closed his eyes. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

"I'm sorry."

Stomach knotting, Jim turned to his friend.  "Don't be.” The words were firm.  “It's nothing you have or haven't done. I'm gonna be okay."

"I can still be sorry."

A faint smile touched Jim's lips. "You're the nicest, grumpiest person I know."

"It's a talent," Bones said with an equally tiny smile. "Get some rest. Join us later if you feel up to it. I'll make soup."

"Your grandma's kind? The one with sweet carrots and a hint of cinnamon?"

"No, my kind, full of health and vitality."

"Boring."

The door closed. Jim dropped the act. He stared into the shadows with brimming eyes. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to feel the emptiness in his chest or the howling terror in his heart. He wanted his mind sharp and clear. He needed his body to respond how it usually did.  He missed the person he knew, the Jim Kirk who called himself captain.

He had to be better. He had to do better.

Chris once told him his dad would be proud of him.

Now it was time to make Chris proud.

Jim dozed, never enough to dream but enough to take the edge off. He awoke to total darkness, mind scrambling to work out the time. Same day, late at night. His stomach gave a lethargic grumble. Levering himself out the bed, Jim plodded into the lounge. He found Bones and Scotty engaged in a game of Monopoly: Federation Edition.

"Doesn't capitalism go against everything the Federation stands for?" Jim asked.

"Sure it does, but tradition's tradition," said Bones.

"You're a true southerner," Jim replied.

"Don't knock tradition," Scotty said, moving the top hat five places to a navy blue space: Vulcan. This was an old edition.

"I'm not." Jim plucked his PADD off the coffee table and wandered into the kitchen. “It’s just a funny thing to see.”

"Soup's on the stove, Jim," Bones called distractedly. "You gonna buy that or not, Scotty?"

"I'm thinking, don't rush me."

Jim left them to it, pouring himself a bowl of soup while accessing a daily schedule app on his PADD. He typed and ate, making a list of what he needed to do.

The first thing on it was not _do what Oscar told me to do_. It was _see the Enterprise_.

The soup was delicious, and Jim's tongue detected a hint of cinnamon. He smiled. He was a lucky man to have a friend as good as Bones.

“Nah, I think I’ll leave it.  Your go.”

“Do you know how this game works, Scotty?”

“’Course I do!”

“If you say so.”

Opening the messaging service on his PADD, Jim sent a quick message to Winona. _Need a favor._

A response came immediately: _what do you need?_

_A ride._

_Where to?_

_Riverside._

_When?_

_Tomorrow. Early._

"I think I will buy some hotels..."

Scotty hissed.  "Capitalism hurts."

"It will do when you land on Andoria."

"How are you so good at this?"

"I come from a long line of classic boardgame fans. Christmas in the McCoy household is a hotbed of competitive gaming."

_You there, Mom?_

_You're sure you're well enough?_

Not her too.  _I need to see my ship._ If he could deal with that, if he could face it, maybe… maybe that would be one less problem to deal with.

_Alright, but it'll be early. 4am early. I’ll bring a shuttle._

_Thanks._

_See you tomorrow._

Picking up his bowl, Jim took a seat around the coffee table and watched Bones slowly dominate the game. Poor Scotty never had a chance.

*** 

Jim was up at 3:30.  It was hard to drag himself out from beneath his warm blankets, but he did it. He scribbled a note to Bones and Scotty, took his meds with a glass of water and a slice of toast and crept out, careful not to disturb Scotty who slept on the couch, apparently not taking the first available shuttle home to Scotland.

Outside in the warm morning air, Jim carried his jacket under one arm and walked off the sleepiness clinging to him. He hadn't slept well, what hour or so he had snatched rampant with nightmares. At the end of the cabin's lengthy track where the shrub died out, Winona waited next to a small shuttle in the flat clearing.

She greeted him with a smile and a careful hug. "Ready?"

"Yeah, let's go."

They were landing in Riverside when Jim's communicator alert beeped with an incoming call.

Bones was awake. " _You better not be doing anything stupid_."

"Define stupid."

" _Jim_."

Winona leaned over. "Don't worry, Leonard, I've got him."

" _You're at the ship._ "

Jim winced at the sharp tone.  "Yeah, I am, but -"

Bones paused briefly. Jim felt disapproval transmitting across the airwaves. " _You better be back this afternoon._ "

"I will, promise."

" _Don't you dare go crawling through the jefferies tubes either._ "

"I won't." ...Much.

" _Winona_?"

"Yes?" Jim rolled his eyes at her butter-wouldn’t-melt tone.

" _Should your son come back in any kind of unfit state, I'll find a way to make your next round of vaccinations a very miserable experience. We clear?_ "

She smiled sweetly, even if she couldn't be seen. "Perfectly."

"Bones, did you seriously just threaten my mom?"

" _Kid, you don't even wanna know what I'll do to you_."

Jim and Winona shared a wide-eyed stare.

"I'm sorry. I just -"

" _Just tell me, in person, next time. I’m a doctor, not a prison warden.  You’re free to do stupid things, I just wanna know first._ "

The disappoint made Jim's heart sink. "I'm really, really sorry. I just have to do this."

" _I know you do. Just tell me next time. Don't leave a note._ "

"A note and a doodle."

" _Yeah, it was a beautiful representation of the_ Enterprise _, kid.  If the whole Starfleet thing doesn't work out, you've got a future in art."_

Jim smiled as he followed Winona out into the chilly Iowa sun. "See you later, Bones."

" _You will._ "

"That's an interesting friend you have there," Winona said when Jim snapped the communicator shut.

Jim huddled into his jacket, the Iowan chill sharper than ever thanks to his time in Mojave. "He'll make good on that threat too."

The tangle of corridors led them to a large room at the bottom of the docks. Jim forget everything, including how the breathe, when he saw the ship. Obviously it wasn't anywhere near as bad as San Francisco, but it was a shock to see the _Enterprise_ in such a terrible shape.

A skeleton crew worked on the bare hull. Jim could see inside his ship, sparks raining down where repairs took place. The damage remained highly visible, deep scaring marring the hull.

"Repairs were delayed by a massive storm, and then Starfleet flagged a few concerns with Mr Scott's designs," Winona said as they walked.

"Yeah, they're kinda dumb like that. The man knows what he's doing."

"But give us another month and she'll be space-ready. Not mission ready, not without her warp drive, but she'll get there."

Jim stared at the ship he loved, the place he truly considered home... and the place where he had died.

He must have paled visibly. "Do you need to sit down?" Winona asked.

Shaking his head, Jim took a steadying breath. "I need to go aboard."

Winona pulled a security pass out of her pocket and handed it over. "Let's go."

Jim's few days away from PT had taken their toll on his muscles, so it was less a stroll and more of a stiff plod across to the ship.  Atrophy was an unpleasant consequence of a coma, despite the advancements in modern medicine. Especially a death-by-radiation, rebirth-by-miracle-serum induced coma.

"No one should be working inside at this hour, so the place is yours," Winona said as they entered a service lift that would take them to an airlock.

"Great."

"You want to go alone?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." The lift arrived and the cool, quiet white space of the _Enterprise_ appeared. "I'm going to wait for you in the mess hall, but call if you need me."

Jim murmured his agreement and left her behind. He knew where he had to go, what he had to face. He walked before he could talk himself out of it.

The closer to engineering, the worse the damage. Losing gravity had certainly left its mark, panels smashed, lighting out, power intermittent.

Hollow legs kept him upright as he forced himself to walk on. He'd be outpaced by a slug, but he didn't stop.

He'd never noticed how big the ship was until walking across it tested the limits of his recouped endurance. It loosened his limbs and he figured it counted toward his PT, but...

...but he procrastinated spectacularly and had come to a stop near the coolant tanks.

He had to see the core. He had to face it. He couldn't get back on this ship as its captain if he couldn't face that fear.  It couldn’t be left to hang over him. Either he dealt with it now, or he never would.

Passing through the shuttle bay, dented like everywhere but empty of actual shuttles, Jim paused to fight back a wave of nausea.

He pushed on, sweat popping out of every pore. He shed his jacket, dumping it on the ground. He stumbled on, past monitoring stations, around the corner, heart pounding, seeing it for the first time, large and silent.

He didn't stop until he reached the glass door. It was sealed shut even though the core had been removed for repair. He touched it, eyes blind to the present as he flashed back to that desperate race to save the crew, the ship, no matter what, at the greatest cost to himself. His skin bubbled as inescapable heat boiling within. His confused mind and dwindling consciousness held on to one simple fact: do it or everybody dies.  And he had.  He’d left a trail of blood and vomit, the damn thing tossed him back and broke ribs, but he’d done it.  The core boomed into life again.

The crawl back to the glass hatch barely registered in his memory.  He’d followed the blood and hoped to make it back before he died.

And then Spock.  Spock and his tears.

And then the feeling he couldn’t get any air…

Black.

Heart jerking in his chest, the present assaulted Jim with its cold and its silence. He backpeddled as fast as he could, gasping for breath. He back smacked a console. His legs collapsed and he hit the deck hard. He made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

It turned into a hysterical laugh. He was alive. He'd died and been brought back. How many people had the chance to revisit the scene of their own death?

He giggled until he cried.

But he'd done it. He'd come back. 

He stared at the glass, told himself it was over, all over… He could do it.  He could look at it and not race in the opposite direction.  It was something to be proud of.

As Jim steadily calmed down, exhaustion swamped him as everything else washed away. He forced himself to his feet, brushing the tears off his face.  On his journey out, he scooped up his jacket and patted the scuffed deck.

"We'll get there," he whispered.

Walking slowly, he took a tour of the ship, storing the damage in his mind. As he walked, his thoughts settled. Calmness descended. Following familiar hallways, the peace in his mind solidified.

He knew then, without a doubt, he wanted his ship back. He wasn't physically ready and he probably wasn’t mentally prepared either, but he'd argue his way back to the chair one way or another.

Jim took his time, so long the repair crews appeared, respectfully saying good morning but avoiding anything else. He returned to the mess hall and gratefully took the chair Winona pushed out for him. 

"You look awful," she said.

"Thanks." He rubbed his sore eyes.

“Find what you were looking for?”

He startled.  “How –”

She smiled. “I know our relationship needed some repair work over the years, but I’m still a mother, and a mother knows these things.”

Jim accepted it with a nod.  “Yeah, I think I did.”

“You didn’t do anything to warrant Doctor McCoy coming for me with a hypospray did you?”

“No.  Why?” He blanched. “How bad do I look?”

“Like you could use a few hours in bed and maybe a tan.  I know you take after me, but you are too pale.” She reached out, her rough hand cupping his cheek.  “You’re getting better, aren’t you?"

“Yeah.”

“‘Cause your ship is, no matter how bad she looks, and she’s gonna need her captain.”

He placed his hand over hers and smiled.  When he spoke, he sounded slightly amazed.  “I’m gonna be fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watched some episodes of Enterprise and remembered how much I like Archer ^_^
> 
> Thank you for reading! Hope to see you all again next weekend :)


	8. Chapter 8

The week in the cabin passed, as time always did. Bones left after the third day, summoned back to Starfleet. 

"I'm not in trouble," he assured Jim. "They need my help."

"Okay. Be safe."

Bones pulled him into a rough hug. "You too. See you back in San Francisco."

"With flowers in my hair." Jim paraphrased with a grin, returning the hug. “Have a good trip home.”

“Take care of yourself. Call me if you need anything.”

“How about we let me take care of myself for a change?”

“Yeah, wouldn’t that be a change.”

“Hey!”

Bones chuckled.  “Take it easy.”

Jim stepped back.  “Thanks for everything, Bones.  You’ve done so much for me.”

“It’s nothing you haven’t already done for me and the rest of the crew.”

“No. It’s not the same. You’ve stuck with me, taken care of me.”

“That’s my job, kid.  I’m a doctor and you’re my best friend.  I wasn’t gonna leave you alone during a time like this.”

Jim nodded.  “That’s what makes you such a good person, Bones.  I’m lucky to have you.”

“Damn right you are.  Thank me by being well.”

“I will, I promise.”

Bones stared at him as though his eyes were a tricorder.  “You’re sure you don’t want someone with you?”

“I’m sure. And in case you forgot, this isn’t the dark ages. We have amazing mobile communication devices that, should I suddenly feel a burning urge for company, I can use anywhere, anytime, to summon said company.”

Bones frowned.

“I can’t take up all your time,” Jim said. “You’ve been through hell as much as I have, and this is me telling you it’s time for you to take care of yourself and do what you gotta do.”

Bones released an almighty sigh. “Fine.  I’ll see you in a few days.”

With Bones gone, Jim had the place to himself. At first he enjoyed it, but soon the cabin and all its contents became overbearing, everything a reminder of how Jim had come to have it. To get away, he threw himself into Oscar's exercise plan, following it to the letter. He found joy in his body's steady recuperation.  The naps were a thing of the past and his appetite approached what passed for normal. What he lacked in endurance he made up for with determination.

If he used physical exertion to keep his mind off just about everything else, nobody else had to know.

The time to return to San Francisco arrived. The week away had soothed nerves and strengthened muscles. The itching virus had died too. Jim was ready. Enough with medical limitations. There had to be something he could do besides healing and talking about what had happened.

Except the media hadn’t forgotten he existed and evading them took every scrap of his formidable intelligence, plus a favour or two from the Academy’s transporter tech suites.

But the determination to do something never wavered, and when he realised what he could do from home, he became a virtual recluse, leaving only for his daily appointments with Oscar which now involved laps in the pool, a sport Jim had never really engaged in beyond a solid graps of the basics. He dug deep into Starfleet, weeding out as much of Section Thirty-One as he could. One person led to another, which led to messages and orders and requisition forms and codenames… Jim intended to reveal every last fucking one of them. They were as much to blame for everything as Marcus and Khan. He wouldn't, couldn't, leave the department to continue its self-destructive work. Starfleet had to be better. It couldn't be the reason for such senseless destruction and loss of life ever again.

It became an obsession. Jim spent hours at work, forgetting to eat, wash or even sleep in his actual bed.  Messages from his friends and his mother went unanswered, and he went so far as to change the access codes to his apartment to keep the nosiest (aka Bones) out.  He couldn’t afford distractions, not when Section Thirty-One was already hard at work erasing itself from history.  He had to find them all before they went to deep underground. 

Jim sent his findings to the few Admirals he trusted on a daily basis, summarising it and linking important clues and evidence trails when necessary.  They had to know.  They had to understand, just like he did, that Thirty-One had to be utterly obliterated.

When sleep did eventually claim him, Jim passed out at his desk or on the couch. Everything else faded into obscurity. He had to expose Section Thirty-One, and he refused to stop, not even when he found people he respected with direct links to the shady department.

When he found the members of his crew working under Section Thirty-One’s orders, Jim came so close to vomiting he made the sprint to the bathroom, only to dry heave over the toilet. Anger, bitterness, guilt and sorrow warred inside him. How had he ever been so blind? How could Starfleet be so inward looking when they claimed to exist to explore peacefully?

Starfleet needed a refit. Jim wouldn't rest until those lofty ideals returned to the heart of the organisation he had dedicated his life to. 

Oscar, however, didn’t share Jim’s determination to destroy Section Thirty-One.  The big man had to get increasingly creative to get Jim out of his apartment, resorting at last to breaking to door down, grabbing Jim in a firefighter's lift and heaving him away from the desk.

"Hey!" Jim kicked out but it was hopeless. Oscar totally overpowered him. "Put me down! I've got work to do!"

Oscar only tightened his grip. "Think I don't recognise depression when I see it?" he asked.

"I'm not depressed, dammit, I'm working!"

"Sure, whatever."

Oscar literally hauled Jim's ass across HQ, countless people staring in utter disbelief. Jim, face burning, tried not to look back.  What would he do if this was the image of him the media splashed over the newsfeeds?

Only when they were poolside at the Academy's aquatic center did Oscar stop and toss Jim in at the deep end. Jim, fully dressed in sweats he'd worn for five days straight, bobbed back to the surface.  He met the other man's gaze, spitting water. "I'm not -"

"Give me a lap, Kirk, and while you're not drowning, you think long and hard about that."

Knowing better than to do anything other than what Oscar ordered, Jim swam.  The hours spent on his ass swiftly returned to haunt him, underused muscles issuing numerous complaints.  Jim ignored them in favour of the rage he directed at Oscar.  Depressed? How could he be? He didn't have the right. He was alive when he should be dead. He was meant to be happy. He was supposed to celebrate.  He just had work to do first.  Maybe it wasn’t rebuilding the city, the _Enterprise_ or other people’s lives kind of work, but bringing down Section Thirty-One and eradicating them for good was something he could do.

And he hated swimming. All that shit about it being good, easy exercise was crap. Every inch of him ached.

"So?" Oscar asked once Jim made it back to the starting point.

"I'm fine," he said, breathing hard.

"Bullshit. Go again."

Jim did.  He wasn't depressed. He wasn't. He couldn't be because it wasn't fair on anyone for him to mope when the alternative was death.

He finished the lap. Oscar didn't even ask. He just pointed.

“What? Come on!”

"It's either this or a shrink, Kirk," Oscar said.  “Swim.”

Jim swam.

Oscar bellowed, his voice carrying across the water with ease. "See, the way I figure, your brain's stuck on some crap like _oh no, what will the others think if they know I'm upset about all the shit I've been through, like losing one of the most important people in my life and getting myself irradiated. I don't want them to know how much it fucking sucks to be so weak when I used to be fit. And Starfleet's a goddamned disaster of its own making and nobody seems to know why._ No, I guess it's not okay for you to be depressed. Better keep swimming then, Kirk."

The painfully high pitched imitation put on by Oscar irritated Jim enough for him to clear another lap, but then cramp set in and he had to stop. He clung onto the edge of the pool, gasping for breath. His clothes billowed around him, weighing him down.

Oscar crouched at his side. "Listen to me, Kirk, 'cause these moods don't come over me very frequently and I'm not inclined to offer you more advice than what I think that shrivelled husk of a brain you possess can take."

Jim stared at him warily, expecting the large man to place his hand upon Jim's head and commence dunking.

"Yeah, you're probably one of the luckiest bastards to ever be shat into the universe, but you're human. You’ve got a lotta mourning to do and no one expects you to be perfectly fine. Sure, they probably want their friend back the way he was before he went and nearly died, but they gotta accept it's gonna be in your time and in your own way and no amount of hopeful looks can change that."

"I'm -"

"Allowed to be fucking miserable."

Jim laughed. It was a pathetic sound.  He was miserable, wasn’t he? And wasn’t that the stupidest damn thing ever? "Thanks, Oscar."

"Right.” The big man stood up. “So now you've had a reality check, you gonna deal with it?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm not gonna have to carry you out again?"

Jim blushed at the memory. "No, sir, definitely not."

"Don't stay locked in your apartment or the next person dragging you out will be a cognitive behavioural therapist. Either that or your doctor friend. Or maybe the Vulcan. They were prepping one helluva intervention."

“Shit, really?”

“Really. Doctor McCoy’s got a hypo for just about everything, doesn’t he?”

Jim pictured the grim expressions and cocked eyebrows Bones and Spock would level at him and shuddered at the thought. He swore to do better...

But how could he continue his work and not be a total hermit at the same time?

"I can see you stewing.  If the cramp's gone, gimmie another lap. Pep talk's over."

Jim followed his orders.

***

Two hours later, Jim was out of the pool, marched back home in his soaking clothes and told in no uncertain terms Oscar wouldn’t hesitate to call the media first if he had to carry Jim across campus again.

“And get someone to fix your door!” he shouted as he left.

Shaking his head at the man, Jim contacted the building’s maintenance department, told them what his problem was and disappeared into his bathroom.  Leaving his clothes on the ground, he climbed into the shower and stood under the warm stream until he couldn’t fight sleep any longer.  Changing into fresh sweats, Jim curled up in his bed for the first time in a week. Weary and aching, he slipped into a deep sleep without meaning to. He awoke hours later to a buzz from the main door. Forcing himself out of bed, he stumbled, bleary eyed, to the newly repairs door and keyed it open.

Something small, fluffy and barking launched itself at him.

"Down, Percy!"

The excitable dog responded instantly, sitting with his tail wagging and tongue lolling. Jim looked up to see Admiral Archer at his doorway and he belatedly regretted his sleep-mussed appearance.

"Kid, how is it you look worse today than you did last week?"

Jim stepped aside to let Archer in. "It's been a rough week, sir."

The door slid shut. "You've been working hard," Archer observed.

"Yessir. I can't do much, but there's nothing stopping me from exposing Section Thirty-One."

"Yes, but I believe I requested the services of Starfleet's best dogwalker once he returned to San Francisco, but he’s been holed up for a week now."

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t just –”

“Leave it alone, I know, which is why I’m here to tell you a story.” Archer took a seat and waited for Jim to do the same, politely declining offers of food and drink. 

Jim sat down.

Archer began. “A member of my crew on the NX-01 worked for Section Thirty-One.”

Jim stared.  “It goes back that far?”

“Thanks for making me feel ancient, kid.”

“Sorry, sir.”

Waving Jim’s words away, Archer went on with his tale.  “This person had worked under me for years when I found out.  It’s a complicated story, one I’m not going to bore you with –”

“Your stories never bore me, sir.”

Archer chuckled and carried on. “– because I want you to know that despite this person’s allegiance with Thirty-One, they were a damned good officer and I owe my life to them more times than I can remember. They only meant to do the right thing for Starfleet.” Archer’s old eyes held onto Jim’s, his long lifetime suddenly painfully visible in their depth.  What must it be like, Jim suddenly wondered, to be the last one standing? “My point, Kirk, _Jim,_ is sometimes people have noble intentions but they get caught up in other people’s schemes.”

The pit of Jim’s stomach sank.  He looked away.

“Thirty-One recruits kids out of the Academy while they’re still naïve enough to believe in whatever patriotic lies they’re fed.  I appreciate why you’re doing what you’re doing, and why you’re so damned determined.  Trusting Starfleet probably isn’t something you feel capable of right now, but you’ll have to.  We’re rounding these people up, faster, thanks to you, but before you start thinking of all of them being like Marcus, try to see the people rather than the department.”

“I’m sorry.  You’re right.” He had to see them as people who could make the right choices, given alternate options.  “Guess I’m not thinking as clearly as I thought I was.”

“That happens when you play at being a recluse.  Medical leave’s not something you’re used to, is it?”

“Who the hell is?”

“Okay, true, but you can’t stay here and stew.”

“I know.  Oscar’s already addressed that.”

“Ah. Well, if it’s your rank you’re worrying about, don’t.  I have a feeling things will be fine.”

Hope seized Jim.  “You mean I won’t be demoted or kicked out?”

A twinkle lit Archer’s eyes, shedding the years.  “I’m not saying anything officially, Jim. I’m just telling you to quit worrying about it.  Get out of here a bit more and distract yourself.  You’re young, you’re alive. Take this time to do something for yourself.  You’ll be back at work before you know it.”

“Something like what?”

“I’m heading to New Vulcan tomorrow to see an old friend and, like I said, I need Starfleet’s best dog walker to give me a hand with Percy.

  
Said dog launched himself onto Jim’s lap and submitted to a lengthy petting.

“You want me to come to New Vulcan to walk your dog?”

“Yup.”

“How’s that doing something for myself?”

“You have a friend there, don’t you?”

“Ambassador Spock is way too busy to –”

“Damn, I thought Pike was always exaggerating about you, but you can be unbelievably thick-headed when you chose to be.  Jim, you’re coming to New Vulcan with me. You’re getting away from Earth, away from Starfleet, away from work and you’re gonna have a week to get your head together while you’re taking my dog for long, desert walks.  And you’re coming because if Ambassador Spock calls me one more time about you, I won’t be held responsible for what happens when I –”

“Whoa! I got it.”

Archer relented.  “Besides, you’re gonna have to undergo some retraining before the _Enterprise_ is ready so why not consider this preparation for the survival skills course you’ll have to pass again.”

“Did you check with Oscar?”

“He’s perfectly happy.  You’ll receive a new exercise regime from him later.”

“And Bones?”

“Doctor McCoy was ecstatic.”

“Bones, ecstatic? Did he jab himself with a hypo?”

“All right, fine, the grouchy bastard agreed it was a good idea and then made me swear I wouldn’t make you take Percy for walks during the height of the day because, and I quote, _Jim’s as pale as snow and fries in the sun like you coated him in oil and stuck him on a barbeque._ ”

“That sounds like him.”

“He also told me to give you this.” Archer reached into a pocket in his jacket and pulled out a hypo.  “It’s your own special sunscreen.  One shot and you’ll be fine for a week.  He said it’s good for three doses and you’ll practically reflect the sunlight.”

Jim took it.  “Thanks.” He bounced the hypospray between his hands, making a mental note to send Bones a thank you too.

“What is it?”

“Huh?” Jim looked at Archer and found the elderly man staring at him.

“You’re thinking about something.”

For a moment, the words refused to sound out.  They seemed too childish to be voiced.

“Out with it, Kirk, or I’ll have you clean out the Academy’s pool before the water-polo championships next month with a toothbrush.”

“I don’t deserve this,” Jim said.  “Trips off planet, visits from one of the most important people in the Federation.  I was in the right place at the right time last year and this year I nearly started a war with the Klingons because I’m an idiot.”

“So what, you’d rather be dead?”

Jim startled.  Did Archer know the truth? “I just… I’m only… I...”

“Look, maybe you’re special, maybe you’re lucky, maybe you’re a whiny bastard who doesn’t appreciate what he’s got, or maybe you’re just another captain who needs whatever help Starfleet can give him to get him back on his feet and back to his ship and his crew. But one thing’s clear, Jim. You’re a good person, and that’s what matters to the people who matter to you.  Sure, Starfleet has an interest in getting you back to work, so do I, but I also happen to still be a fairly decent human being despite my advanced years.  Are you following me?”

Jim nodded.  “So shut up and enjoy it?” he concluded.

“Exactly.”

A smile flickered across Jim's face.  "When I grow up, I want to be as wise as you."

Archer thwacked Jim with his walking stick. "Smartass."

Percy yipped.

Jim stroked the dog’s head.  “Alright.”

“Thank goodness for small mercies,” Archer muttered.  “Now, get out of here and take Percy for a walk.” He sat back in his chair.  “I’m gonna make myself at home.  I don’t wanna see you for at least an hour.”

Jim did as he was told, pausing long enough to grab himself a jacket.  Then he and Percy were out of the building and on their walk.

So, a week on New Vulcan.  It would be hot, but maybe some time away from Earth wouldn’t be such a bad idea.  It didn’t sit right in his stomach but, as people seemed to be going to great pains to tell him, he couldn’t do anything else and sitting on his own in his apartment wasn’t helping his recovery either.  He had to get back to his crew and his ship, and holing up at home wasn’t doing that. Besides, he hadn’t caught up with Ambassador Spock the last time he’d been to New Vulcan during the whole Gorn incident a few months back, right before Nibiru. It’d be good to see him again.  Jim enjoyed the elderly Vulcan’s calming presence.  But who Archer was going to see?

…Oh.

Jim slapped a hand to his forehead and groaned at his own dull-wittedness.  What was wrong with him? How could he be so stupid? Archer would be seeing Ambassador T’Pol.

For the first time in his life, Jim felt a little star struck. He’d be spending time with two of the most important people in the entire Federation.

“Wow,” he breathed.

Maybe he was just that lucky sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided right back at the start of this I wanted to involve Spock Prime. And I just love Archer. Oh, and I wanted to be vague with his whole Section Thirty-One episodes from Enterprise in case any of you are watching it and don't want to be spoiled ^_^
> 
> And yes, I did play the game with the Gorn. It was fun, although my approach was FORGET STEALTH AND SHOOT EVERYTHING!!!!!!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for the wait for this chapter. Life attacked! But the good news is while we are reaching the end of this part of the series, the next part has made itself known in my brain. 
> 
> I will hopefully update again next week, work and Sudden Unexpected Travel Plans permitting :)
> 
> Thank you all for the comments and kudos! You are just lovely. Hope you enjoy the chapter!

Ambassador Spock met them at New Vulcan’s main spaceport.  Jim shouldered his backpack, held tight to Percy’s lead and walked alongside Archer as they left the shuttle behind.  Thanks to Archer, they’d been able to hitch a ride on the _Obama,_ a science ship headed out for research on a newfound planet.  Jim had endured a quiet send off from his senior crew. Sulu was especially keen for a particular type of new plant species discovered on New Vulcan and Uhura made Jim promise to pass on her best wishes to the elder Spock.  Bones gave him a list of dos and don’ts (do be careful, don’t be stupid summed it up neatly) and Jim said his farewells.

The journey from Earth had taken a little over a day due to the _Obama’s_ schedule, and Jim had spent most of it in his temporary quarters.  He’d spent a little time with the ship’s captain, the renowned and respected Enid Powell, and enjoyed her company, but being back in space… he didn’t know how to feel.  Not anxious or scared, nothing like that.  Just… just something.  Not quite excited but not exactly happy either.

He wanted to be aboard the _Enterprise_.

He was _homesick_ for his ship.  And not the kind of homesick he could shake off with a stern word to himself.  He missed it so much it brought tears to his eyes.  He hated being so emotional, and so he locked himself away in his quarters and totally pretended he wasn’t doing it.

When Archer came to get him, he didn’t comment. Jim resolved to _do better next time_.

The shuttle took them down to the planet, the pilot chatting to Archer the whole time.  She threw a few words Jim’s way, but he still wasn’t up for a conversation.  Arriving at New Vulcan was a relief… until he stepped out of the shuttle and a wall of heat slapped him in the face.  He just about kept himself from staggering, but it was a close thing. 

And he hadn’t fooled Ambassador Spock.

Another elderly Vulcan stood at his side.  Jim knew she was T’Pol, Archer’s former first officer and, quite clearly, a dear friend. She greeted him with a nod of her head and the slightest hint of a smile.

“If I may introduce Captain Kirk of the new _Enterprise_ ,” Archer said. “Young Jim here agreed to take care of Percy for me.”

T’Pol raised her hand.  “Live long and prosper, Captain Kirk.”

“Peace and long life,” Jim replied.

“You are very young indeed,” T’Pol observed.  “The youngest captain in Starfleet history, I believe.”

“Um…”

“C’mon, T’Pol, don’t intimidate the kid.” Archer stepped to her side.  “See you later, Jim.  Don’t forget to take Percy for his walks and I’ll catch up with you before we head back to Earth next week.  Nice to see you again, Ambassador Spock.”

  
“And you, Admiral Archer.”

And then it was just Jim, Ambassador Spock and an excitable dog. 

“You are looking well despite your ordeal,” Spock said as he led Jim away from the spaceport.  “Your recovery is proceeding as it should?”

“Yeah.  I’m good.”

“Good is a vague term.”

Jim shook his head and sighed.  “It’s what I am, Spock.”

“Doctor McCoy sent me a message suggesting you are at forty per cent your usual levels of physical fitness and prone to tiredness.”

“Bones is…” Jim sighed.  “Bones is probably right.  But I am getting better.”

“Indeed.”

By the time they reached Spock’s humble abode, Percy was flagging and Jim wondered how the hell the Vulcans put up with the heat.  The dog curled up in a shady corner as soon as he was free of his leash.  Jim just about kept it together to remove his shoes and put his bag down neatly before he collapsed in a chair.

 _Prone to tiredness._ This time, Jim blamed the oppressive heat.

It felt weird to be here with a man who was, essentially, his first officer.  And yet at the same time, it was so easy to separate his Spock from this alternate version.  The ambassador expressed emotions somewhat more freely than his younger self, and there was, for lack of a better term, a twinkle in his eye Jim’s Spock had yet to demonstrate…

…although Jim imagined Uhura would argue the point with him.

…and he was done thinking about that.

“My apologies for not coming to see you while you were on Earth, but I suspected you would not desire another visitor.”

“You’re always welcome, Spock.”

“And yet I find it highly unlikely you would have wanted another person at your bedside while you recovered.”

Sometimes, Ambassador Spock’s knowledge of Jim’s character unnerved him. 

“What’s it like?” Jim suddenly asked.  “Time travel, I mean.”

“Disconcerting, at times,” Spock said.  “That being said, I do not allow myself to dwell on the people and events that will no longer occur due to Nero’s actions.”

Jim got the distinct feeling Spock wanted to impart wisdom.  He gave a nod.  No time travel to fix shit. Got it.

“Bit it is not without its merits.”

“It’s not weird, seeing all of us again? Seeing yourself as a young man?”

Spock’s eyebrow twitched at _weird_.  “Although I consider myself well adapted to this time, I cannot deny the occasional dissonance I feel.”

“Because things look the same but scratch a little off the surface and it’s unrecognisable?”

“Indeed.”

“I’m sorry,” Jim said.  “I’m sorry I can’t be like your Jim.  He must’ve been dead for a while before you came back here.  Um, I’m sure he’s sorry about that too.”

“Do not apologise for being who you are,” Spock replied.  “Nor should you apologise for death when it is inevitable.”

“Was your version of me such a screw up?”

“You need not compare yourself to yourself,” Spock said.  “I assure you, despite my recognising you that day on Delta Vega, I do not and never will think of you as a poor copy of yourself. You are precisely who you need to be.  Wishing to be someone else, especially when that someone else is your own fabricated version of your idealised self, is illogical.  The James Kirk I knew before was every bit as human as you are.  He was not above making mistakes.  I cannot, however, share them due to the impact such knowledge could have on your future.”

A smile twisted Jim’s lips. “That’s good to know.”

“But you did not come here so I could share memories of an alternate existence.”

“No, I didn’t.”

"Why did you come here?"

"Admiral Archer made me?"

"No, Jim. You came here for another reason."

Jim startled. Spock gave him a look of bland curiosity. Very Vulcan. Very direct.

"I just... I'm not..." Jim frowned. "Talking to you about how I'm _feeling_ is weird."

"And yet you sought me out."

"Maybe I just wanted some good old Vulcan peace and quiet. Maybe I just needed to get away from Earth for a while and pretend I didn't fuck it all up." Spock frowned slightly. Jim continued. "Maybe I'm being a coward and a sham and a poor excuse for a person by running away." He looked at Spock. "Am I running away? Is that what I'm doing by being here? I should be back on Earth cleaning up my messes." Jim stood suddenly. "I shouldn't be here."

Spock stood too. "Jim, I know I may not know you as well as I once did in another life, but I am not mistaken when I say you have always put duty before yourself, frequently at cost to yourself and your well-being. Given what I know of your injuries and subsequent recovery, I believe now is the time you must put yourself first. If it is your crew you are concerned about, you know better than to doubt their abilities, and they need a captain at full strength to lead them. Starfleet too can wait. It would be highly illogical to put your recovery at risk simply because you failed to provide yourself with ample time to regain what you have lost."

Jim blinked, all responses and retorts erased from his mind.

"You have never and never will be a coward," Spock added. "To refer to yourself as such is an insult I find highly distasteful. I ask you to reconsider your opinion immediately."

Laughter bubbled out of Jim. "No one like a Vulcan to give it to you straight."

Spock’s mouth tilted into the smallest of knowing smiles.  "Ah, that would be why my younger counterpart remains your First Officer."

"It's definitely one reason."

"Sit down, Jim."

He did.

"You will stay. You will rest. You shall have your peace and quiet. And when you return to Earth next week with Admiral Archer, you will be ready to aid the recovery efforts.”

"So long as Bones doesn't think I'll have some kind of relapse."

"Doctor McCoy's concern for his friends does, at times, blind him to other options."

"By 'at times', do you mean constantly?"

Spock didn't comment.

"Wow, you two really have the most antagonistic friendship ever. In any reality."

Spock's face composed itself into a look of pure Vulcan disdain. "His refusal to consider more logical approaches frequently proved frustrating.

Jim laughed again.

"I can teach you meditation techniques to bring clarity and order to your thoughts.  Perhaps that will untangle what troubles you."

"Clarity and order," Jim murmured. That was it. That was why he was here. He couldn't ask his Spock to help with this when he had so much else to deal with. Besides, how could he talk about dealing with his own memories of dying with one of the people who'd been there when it happened? And Scotty too, then Uhura, and Bones... Jim refused to be more of a burden to any of his crew... And yet this Spock, whose emotions were somehow closer to the surface but every bit controlled as they'd ever been, knew him so well and was just far enough removed from it all (kind of - Jim knew Khan wasn't a one universe wonder but Spock wouldn’t elaborate and Jim couldn’t help but wonder why) to give him the outside perspective he desperately needed.

"We can begin immediately," Spock said.

Jim nodded. "Show me what to do."

They retreated to a small chamber in Spock’s sparse abode set aside for meditation.  Cool and dark and separate from the main bedroom, it contained simple cushions and a few candles.  Spock told Jim to sit.  He lit a candle and placed it in front of Jim. 

“Keep your eyes and your mind on the light.”

Jim did.

“I will guide you. Listen carefully.”

With Spock’s help, Jim slowed his breathing.  Each deep breath filled him, taking more of the screeching hubbub of thoughts from his mind every time he breathed it out.

“Release everything.  Be at peace.”

Time drifted away.  By the time Jim came back to himself, night had fallen and hunger rumbled in his stomach.  He felt peaceful, calm, but not tired or rung out like he frequently did. 

Only then did he realise Spock was not in the chamber with him.  Jim blew the candle out and went back to the main living area.  His nose caught the scent of food and an excited yip heralded Percy’s sudden leap toward him.

“You are just in time for dinner.”

In the dining area, a selection of vegetarian food awaited, including plomeek broth.  Giving Percy a quick pet, Jim turned to Spock.  “Sorry. You should have asked me to help.”

“There is no need for an apology.  Sit. Eat.”

The night passed quietly.  Spock, no matter how old, still lacked any talent for small talk.  They discussed further meditation then ate in comfortable silence. Jim ate more than he had in weeks and insisted on cleaning up. When Jim returned from taking Percy for a walk, definitely feeling the time-lag catching up with him, Spock said goodnight and retreated to his bedroom.  Percy curled up in the corner he had decided belonged to him and Jim, after rolling out his sleep mat and making quick work of brushing his teeth, succumbed to sleep shortly after.

Nightmares stalked his sleep, dreams of darkness and silence and loneliness clinging on tight.

***

The days passed slowly and although Jim’s sleep remained punctuated with nightmares, his mind nevertheless settled.  With the elder Spock's patient and calm guidance, Jim took a step back from himself and approached his feelings from a detached position. He could examine everything critically rather than emotionally.

Spock’s expression definitely showed pride every time Jim emerged from his deepening meditations.  “It is remarkably pleasing to see you develop such a talent for these exercises,” he said. 

Jim acknowledged his mistakes and saw for the first time just how ensnared he'd been in the plans of others.  Grief may have blinded him, but thanks to his crew, he'd just about stopped himself from committing a real atrocity. Jim knew he'd done the right thing in the end. It wasn't perfect, it wasn't good, but it was a favourable outcome. Lives had been lost, more than he could really and truly comprehend, but more had been saved and Marcus and Khan were no longer a threat.

He didn't need to torture himself with what ifs anymore. Spock called it a human tendency. Jim agreed and kept his thoughts locked onto what had happened and what could be done to keep Starfleet from ever losing its way again.

That was all he need concern himself with: making sure the organisation he'd given his life for remembered it existed to promote peaceful exploration and friendship across the stars.

Self-reflection brought renewed determination.  Maybe Jim was good at his job, but he wasn't the best. Not yet. But he would be. For his crew, for everyone who had ever put their faith in him, and for himself. What was it Nero said? He'd been a great man in another life. Time to be a great man in this life.

Maybe visiting the broken _Enterprise_ convinced him he wanted to go back into space, but his time on New Vulcan backed up the excitement with inner strength.  _Wanted_ became _would._ Desire became a certainty.  Jim would captain the _Enterprise_ and lead her crew again.  There was nowhere else he’d rather be.  He practically buzzed with anticipation, itching with the need to be back on Earth and fixing everything he could get his hands on.  The _Enterprise,_ Starfleet, San Francisco.  Whatever it was, he wanted to do it.

For the first time since he’d gasped out of the coma, Jim felt like Captain Kirk.

But the meditation didn't ease was his grief, and Jim was grateful Spock gave him the privacy he needed when suddenly and without warning it overcame him.  As good as he felt about the future, the anguish of knowing who he couldn’t share it with hit hard.

Christopher Pike had been everything Jim had needed - a strong leader, proud of Jim when he deserved it and just as willing to haul him back into line when his ego overshadowed common sense. To have Chris taken away so violently... No, Jim hadn't dealt with it yet. He wasn't sure he knew how.  Emotions like that couldn’t be looked at objectively.

And Jim had no idea how to explain that particular emotional mess either.  Yes, he wanted to lead and he burned with the need to get back to work. No, he couldn’t accept he’d lost the one man he owed it all to.

He found his thoughts consumed by it when he took Percy for long night-time walks. His blatantly emotional state drew many stares from the Vulcans he passed, but he ignored them. Really, he barely noticed them.

Why? Why did it have to be Chris?

It would take more than Vulcan meditation to overcome that anger and anguish.

A punch bag would be a good start.

He was astonished five days into his visit when Spock provided him with exactly that. New Vulcan had a sports complex after all.

"We are peaceful but we understand the body's need for varying forms of exercise," Spock informed Jim. “And given that no matter how adept at meditation you have become, you are human and will always require more external methods of dealing with your excess emotions.”

Spock took his leave before Jim could formulate a response.

It was a good thing the punch bag had superior Vulcan strength in mind. Good for it, anyway. Bad for Jim's hands. He didn’t bother with any particular styles or fighting forms.  He lashed out.  He punched out every shred of feeling he had in him.

Fuck that bastard Khan for attacking the way he had.

Fuck Marcus for putting everyone in that room in so much danger.

Fuck Chris for dying.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

If only he'd gotten back to Chris in time... Even if not to save him, but to say goodbye. Say thank you. Say _you’re the only one who ever believed in me and I’m sorry I let you down and I swear, Chris, I swear I’ll never do anything to disappoint you ever again._

He wasn’t really angry at Chris. He was angry at himself.

And then he wasn’t angry at anything.  Jim smacked the punch bag until his knuckles bled and his knees gave out.  He sobbed for breath, his overtaxed body trembling.  Sweat dripped from him, his thin clothes stuck to his skin.  Suddenly dizzy, he pressed his head to the ground and waited for it to pass.

He became aware of the agony he felt in both hands, and stared in shock at the misshapen state of them.  Broken. Both of them.

Bones was going to be so pissed.  He’d say something like _dammit, Jim, I just got through fixing you and now look at the mess you’re in!_

A hysterical giggle broke out of him, followed swiftly by tears.

_Why?_

Jim cried himself into a fitful doze.

An old voice dragged him back out.  “Jim.”

He looked up and saw Spock.  Sitting up, Jim swallowed hard when the room took a few turns.  The pain in his hands went straight to his stomach, and he swallowed hard to keep the nausea at bay.  He wanted to rub his teary eyes, but both his hands were swollen wrecks. 

“I believe you have achieved what you set out to do,” Spock said.  The look on his face said even all his years of living with humans did not explain why they had to express themselves so viciously sometimes.

Lacking the words to properly explain his actions, Jim simply nodded.  He felt empty.  Not the bad kind, not the kind of empty you got when depression robbed you of everything.  He felt empty of sorrow.  He tingled, like he’d washed himself out.  He’d missed a few bits, but he’d dislodged the worst of it.  The first thing on his mind was not _Chris is dead_ but _I need to get the senior crew together when I’m back on Earth._

“If you are able to stand, we will seek out a healer.”

Jim did so without a word and stumbled after Spock.  By the time they reached the small clinic, Jim was ready to drop.  Thankfully, the place was empty and a bed instantly available.  The healer gave him a mild painkiller.

Jim went out like a light. 

And he dreamt.  Good dreams. Normal dreams.

He awoke to splinted hands and a realisation chiming in his mind.  He looked up and saw Spock at his bedside.  It all made such crystal clear sense Jim wondered how far gone he’d been to not get it sooner.

“You did it in your reality, didn’t you? You died.”

“I did.  It was – ”

“Logical. I know.  Believe me, I know.”

Spock accepted that and moved on.  “Returning to life was not as straight-forward as others may believe it to be.  It was a confusing time."

“It’s not like you to state the obvious.”

“If there is anything else I can do to help you during this time, I will gladly do so.”

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Jim asked.

“Given your intelligence, I knew it would only be a matter of time before you came to the correct conclusion.”

Jim nodded.  “The needs of the many,” he started.

“Outweigh the needs of the one,” Spock concluded.

“They’re my family,” Jim added. 

“And they are extremely fortunate to have you looking out for their best interests.”  

“I’m just as lucky to have them.”

“Luck is –”

“Illogical, I know, I know.  It’s an expression and you know what I meant.”

“Indeed.”

“So,” Jim said, sitting straighter.  “Can I go now? Percy needs a walk and – why are you looking at me like that?”

“There was a complication.”

…He had to be kidding…. Except this was Spock.  Shit.  “What happened?”

“The healer used a medication you are allergic to.  You have been unconscious for over a day and your hands are not yet fully repaired.  While your reaction was not life-threatening and appears to have passed, it was deeply disconcerting. I was unaware of your differing medical history.”

Jim’s stomach suddenly sank.  “You contacted Starfleet, didn’t you?”

“And they have sent their finest doctor here.”

Uh oh.  “Bones?”

“Doctor McCoy will be arriving shortly.”

“Spock, you didn’t!”

“Given your recent medical history –”

Jim groaned loudly.  “He’s gonna kill me!”

“Given how hard he worked to bring you back to life, I find that unlikely.”

“And then he’s gonna kill you.”

“You are exaggerating.  Doctor McCoy will not – ”

“Dammit, man, do you have any idea how many years you’ve shaved off my life expectancy?”

“Ah,” Spock said.  “The doctor has arrived.”

Panting, dressed in civvies and clutching his medkit, Bones wore an expression of ire. 

Jim felt a sudden and completely overwhelming urge to lie back down.  “Bones, I can explain.”

“Save it, kid, I am not interested.” This wasn’t just _you’ve done something stupid and I’m mad at you for it_ Bones.  This was _you’ve scared the shit out of me_ Bones.

“I’m sorry,” Jim said.  “I didn’t –”

“Not. Now.”

Spock stepped up.  “Then perhaps I could –”

Bones silenced Spock with a glare.  “So help me, Old Man Spock, if you so much as try and logic your way out of this one, you’ll have to invent a new way to skip realities just to stay outta my way.”

“It’s not his fault,” Jim said. “I’m the one who – ow!”

Bones had Jim’s hands in his.  “Did you leave anything intact in there?”

“Um…”

“You were supposed to come here to relax, not beat your hands into pulp!”

“If it’s any consolation, I do feel better.”

“It’s no consolation whatsoever.” Bones wielded a hypo with deadly accuracy.

One of Jim’s broken hands slapped against his neck.  “Ow!” Hypo pain and broken bones pain.  “I’m fi… oh fuuuu –” He sank into his pillow.

“Sleep tight kid.  I gotta fix your hands.”

Darkness held him tight and carried him away.


	10. Chapter 10

Jim came to with healed but aching hands. Bones stood beside the bed, no less frowny than before.

Eyes still blurry, Jim nonetheless picked up right where he left off. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you or worry you or anything like that. It just... I mean... It was all... I couldn't think clearly. I was only... I had to get it out."

Bones perched on the edge of the bed, a dark shape amidst all the Vulcan blandness. "Next time, try to do it without having Old Spock summon me across the galaxy. I don't need that kind of stress."

Blinking hard to clear his eyes, Jim grabbed Bones’ arm. "I know, I know. And I would never do it on purpose, I swear."

Bones rested his hand on Jim's shoulder, his grip steady and warm. "I know. I'm just extra sensitive. It's gonna take time."

"I'm sorry."

"I know. Just take it easy, okay? You're still recovering."

Jim flexed his newly healed hands. "I know. But I'm better. Really."

"I know you are. Which is why I'm letting you see this." He handed over a PADD. "You've been summoned."

Jim sat up and took the device. "My month is up?" The orders were clear. He had to report to HQ at 0800 hours tomorrow. "I really lost track of time."

"Don’t get too excited. You still need PT and there're a lot of tests to pass before I'll sign you off for anything more strenuous than paperwork. It takes more than Old Spock's say-so. Still, looks like the vacation's over."

"I'd better get ready." Jim moved to stand, but his body refused, like he’d gained several hundred extra pounds. "What did you give me?"

"Nothing. That's called over-exertion and you'll have to deal with that yourself."

“Fine.” A few minutes longer in bed wouldn’t hurt. “How’d you get here so fast anyway?”

“Starfleet wants you back, so they sent their best pilot along with their best doctor.”

“Sulu’s here?”

“And waiting.”

Digging deep, Jim forced himself to swing his legs over the bed’s edge. He ignored the look on Bones’ face as his arms trembled. “Is Spock here? I can’t just leave without saying goodbye.”

Bones turned to the door. “Spock, get in here!”

The elderly Vulcan entered. “Doctor McCoy, you do not need to raise your voice to such levels when I am within –”

“Just ‘cause your ears are pointy doesn’t mean they work as well. Maybe I was being considerate of your advanced age.”

“My Vulcan heritage protects me from such physical declines.”

“Well, ain’t you the lucky one.”

“Lucky, Doctor, is not –”

“Bones.” Jim rolled his eyes hard enough to make his head hurt. He swore Spock was doing it on purpose, like he’d missed…

Oh.

Bones left. Jim turned to Spock. “I get the feeling you were enjoying that.”

“He is remarkably easy to wind up, as humans say.”

Jim chuckled. “Yeah, but don’t tell him that. He wields those hypos with deadly accuracy.”

The eyebrow shot up. “So he tells me.”

“Ah, he wouldn’t really.”

“Perhaps not,” Spock said before changing subjects. “Despite our current location, you seem better.”

“I am.” He was. It felt strange, like he’d swum up from some great depth, pressure lessening until he’d finally found air. “I have you to thank for that. You helped me find perspective again.”

“You are welcome, Jim. I have brought your things from my home. I knew you would not have time to pick them up for yourself.”

“What about Percy?”

“Admiral Archer has taken custody of the animal.”

Moving carefully, Jim managed to get to his feet. “It’s been good to see you again, Spock.”

“And you. If I may, I would ask you to avoid dying again until you have reached the end of a proper human lifetime.”

Squirming awkwardly, Jim nevertheless managed an abashed smile. “I’ll do my best.”

“Indeed.”

“And Spock? If you ever need to, you know, talk to anyone about anything, you know you can talk to me, right? I mean, I don’t… I’m not exactly prone to wisdom, but I’m pretty good at listening.”

“Thank you, Jim. The offer is kind. I would ask one question before you leave.”

“Yeah?”

“How did you know I died in my reality? I never mentioned it explicitly.”

Jim shrugged. “You knew exactly how to help me. You knew what to say, or not say, so well there was only one answer: you knew what I needed because you knew what you’d needed.”

“Logical,” Spock concluded.

“I’ve been known to dabble in logic,” Jim replied.

They left the small room together and found Bones and Sulu outside the small medical facility, a gleaming Starfleet shuttle waiting on the nearby pad. Larger than anything the Enterprise carried but definitely not suitable for deep space missions, the spacecraft gleamed in the sunlight. Jim recognised the sleek design from his days at the Academy, but he didn’t know they’d actually built one.

Sulu greeted him with a nod. “You’re looking well, sir.”

“Thanks,” Jim said, mentally preparing himself to hear that a lot in the next few days. “Nice ship you got there.”

“It’s a prototype,” Sulu said with an excited gleam in his eyes. “Fastest ship of its size.”

“Protoype?” Bones squawked. “You never told me that!”

Sulu ignored him. “They want to call them Runabouts for shorter journeys. It’s a beauty. Handles like a dream.”

“You want one?” Jim asked.

“Hell yes!” Sulu grinned. “Think we can convince Scotty to make space in the docking bay on the Enterprise?”

Jim grinned back. “Definitely.”

“If you two are done fanboying, we actually have to go,” Bones said. He looked slightly green around the gills. “You’re sure this thing won’t fall apart mid-warp, Sulu?”

“Not a chance. Although, there was that strange squeaking from the back section…”

Bones freaked. “What?!”

Jim snorted and didn’t even attempt to cover it up.

Sulu slid away into the ship without another word.

“Sly bastard,” Bones muttered, following him with blatant trepidation.

Jim turned back to Spock. “Live long and prosper,” he said, speaking the words in Vulcan.

“Peace and long life.” Spock replied in kind.

Leaving New Vulcan behind, Jim went aboard the Runabout. He marvelled at the bright, smart layout. The cockpit at the front of the ship was separated off with sliding glass doors and he could see Sulu busily preparing for launch. The main area of the ship had tables, comfortable chairs, a small galley and plenty of workspace for several people. Bones had himself strapped in. Jim decided to join Sulu in the cockpit and get a taste for how the Runabout worked.

“You’re not cleared to fly it, just so you know,” Bones called. “Don’t you try talking Sulu into it either.”

“He won’t be able to, Doctor,” Sulu called back.

“Spoilsports,” Jim muttered, taking the co-pilot’s seat. Strapping himself in, eyes scanning the telemetry, he leaned back and allowed Starfleet’s new sports ship (because this thing was way too flashy to be anything but some Admiral’s ideal retirement vehicle) to take him home.

“I can’t get over how well she handles,” Sulu enthused as they left New Vulcan’s atmosphere. “The craftsmanship is phenomenal. It’s all so intuitive. You could hand this thing over to a child and they’d get it going.”

“He’s not flying it,” Bones called from the main area.

“I didn’t ask!” Jim cried out. “Wait, did you just call me a child?”

Bones laughed.

***

The next morning, the Admiralty didn’t keep him waiting. Jim arrived five minutes early and the clock barely ticked over to 0800 when someone appeared to usher him into the meeting room. Jim’s dress uniform still hung off his overly skinny frame, but at least this time he wasn’t so sick or operating under the influence of some ridiculous alien virus that had snuck past all of Bones’ hypo’d defenses.

The same admirals sat behind the wide desk. Sunlight shone in from outside, peering through the grey clouds.

“You look better than the last time we saw you, Kirk,” Komack said. “We won’t keep you long. We’ve reviewed all the evidence and come to a conclusion.”

Archer may have clued him in, but Jim’s stomach fluttered regardless. He held himself straighter.

Komack smiled. “Relax, Captain.” Jim didn’t. Komack went on regardless. “Not only did your actions prevent a terrible situation from getting any worse, but you proved your utmost dedication to your crew. You’ve still got a ways to go before you’re physically capable of retaking command of the _Enterprise_ , but we have no doubt you’ll be ready when the time comes. Until then, you are hereby ordered to report to Starfleet Academy where you will be teaching a few entry-level courses. Admiral Archer also expressed his desire to have you aid the continuing investigation into Section Thirty-One, and of course you’ll be wanting to see your ship. In fact, seeing as you won’t start teaching until the day after tomorrow, you should probably head to the shipyards today.”

Jim processed that for a few seconds, but one fact really struggled to compute. “You want me to teach cadets?”

“Basic command courses.” This time Admiral Barnett spoke up. “We think you’ll manage. Maybe you’ll even enjoy it. I suspect the cadets will.”

“You’re not asking me to program the Kobayashi Maru, are you, sir?”

Barnett actually laughed. “Definitely not.”

Just about restraining the urge to add _good, because it’s a stupid simulation_ , Jim thanked the admirals instead.

“Don’t thank us yet, Kirk,” Komack said. “Let’s see how you feel after a week of classes.”

Jim accepted the advice with an apprehensive nod.

Komack’s grim expression softened. “Dismissed, Captain.”

Saluting sharply, Jim turned to leave.

“Oh, Captain?”

Jim turned back, wondering what else Komack had to say. Instead he watched as every admiral stood from their chairs and saluted back.

“Thank you,” Komack said. “Starfleet is honoured to have an officer like you among its ranks.”

The others echoed him, sincerity ringing from every voice.

For the first time in years, Jim felt a bright blush rush across his face. He managed something that hopefully sounded like “you’re welcome” and quickly escaped before he embarrassed himself any further.

Except outside the hall his crew waited for him. And not just senior staff, but everyone who had survived the whole mess. Jim’s cheeks took on a whole new shade of red as a huge cheer went out. Everyone looked so happy and proud and Scotty was in tears, Bones was actually smiling, Spock looked happy (it was in his eyes), Uhura and Carol had party poppers, Chekov was shouting excitedly in Russian and Sulu aimed a (very) shaken bottle of champagne at him and let rip.

So help him if any of them had some form of camera…

“Captain.” Spock stepped forward. The crew fell quiet. “The crew wish to offer their congratulations on your return to active service.”

A few whoops and cheers went out again.

Jim ran his hands through his sopping wet hair, shaking them and sending droplets flying. “Thanks.” He looked at his gathered crew. “Thanks for being here. It’s good to finally see you all again.”

“I believe I speak for us all when I say it will be an honour to serve with you once more,” Spock said.

The crew managed an even louder cheer. Uhura handed him a towel. “Figured you’d need one,” she said with a wink.

As Jim dried himself off, Scotty stepped forward, wiping his eyes and sniffing loudly. “I couldnae bring the _Enterprise_ here…”

“And he tried,” Bones said.

“…but if you’re ready, we’ll go see her now.”

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

Scotty flipped open his communicator. “Scott here. Two to beam over.”

In a flash of buzzing light, Jim went from San Francisco to Riverside. They weren’t in the shipyards but just outside where the _Enterprise_ , in all her semi-repaired, battered glory, could be seen looming over them. Jim remembered the spot well, having last been here the morning he joined Starfleet. Sure, he’d been sleep deprived, hungover and definitely concussed, but he’d made a decision that morning, and he was making it again now.

The _Enterprise_ would be his, and he would go out into space and see as many new worlds and new civilisations as he could. He’d show Starfleet how it should be done, he’d do his bit to keep the Federation moving forward, and he’d always, always, put the lives of his crew first.

“She’s a beauty, Scotty,” Jim said thickly.

“Aye, that she is.”

Jim cleared his throat. “Give it to me straight. How long am I gonna be teaching at the Academy?”

“Ten months, but less if your mother has anything to say about it, which she does, a lot, and she must know a lotta people in a lotta high places to be getting the kinda favours she’s pulling in.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“Oh, don’t be so sure, Jim. She told me about the time she had a bunch of cadets babysit you and your brother.”

“What?”

Scotty laughed. “Saw the pictures too. How old were you, two? I had no idea they made cadet uniforms that small.”

He had absolutely no memory of that day, but Sam had certainly filled him in on how the female cadets had spoiled them for a whole day while their mom attended meetings. Jim buried his face in his hands. “What else is she doing?”

“Well now, I cannae say I’ve seen it myself, but there’s a photo going around of a certain little boy who, and, like I said, it’s all rumours, is dressed in a very authentic cowboy outfit.”

“…I need to stop her before she does anything worse.”

But before Jim could move, light filled his vision as a transporter delivered increasing numbers of the crew, all of them holding various items of food, drink, eating and drinking utensils, and blankets. Sulu brought the music. Bones brought the good bourbon. Once everybody had a drink of their choosing (or Bones’ choosing in Jim’s case, because under no circumstances was he consuming anything alcoholic and given what happened the last time, Jim was only too happy to oblige). Apple juice in hand, Jim called for a toast.

“To new beginnings and new journeys, and a promise to honour the memories of those we lost.”

Maybe it was a sombre ending, but everyone raised a glass (even Spock, to Jim’s amazement). Then the party, that was less of a party and more of a picnic under the _Enterprise_ , really got underway.

With his eyes on the ship, Jim sat back and let the sound of voices and laughter wash over him.

It felt good to be alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I'll be back just as soon as I can with the third part of this little series of mine :D


End file.
